


Shattered Memories

by DaynaFoxe



Category: The X-Files, X-Files - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:58:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8229161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaynaFoxe/pseuds/DaynaFoxe
Summary: What happened to make Mulder a single father of a newborn baby? How can he cope without his partner? How can their child grow up without a Mother? Is Scully really gone? Was it ever really Scully at all?





	1. Chapter 1 - Without You

He couldn't believe it. She was gone. 

For the last two months, she had been home on strict bed rest, thanks to pregnancy-related high blood pressure. He had been carrying on with the X-Files as best as he could without his partner. Despite the fact that she was carrying his child, a gulf had opened between them since she had told him she was pregnant.   
He could still remember the day she had told him, nearly six months earlier. He knew she'd had a doctor's appointment earlier that day, but he hadn't known what it was for. When he met her afterward for lunch, she had been positively glowing. She had been excited for the baby, so excited. He, had not been. It wasn't that he disliked children, or even the idea of being a Father. It was just so sudden, so unexpected, and such bad timing. There was so much to be done at work, so many leads on the Shadow Syndicate that needed to be followed up on… And he was afraid. Afraid he would be a Father like his own had been, that his own child would be harmed because of his work. But instead of being able to tell her these things, he had gotten angry, churlish even. He had stormed out of the restaurant, but not before he saw the hurt and confusion in her eyes.  
They had spoken very little over the next month, save for at work and about work. Finally she had shown up at his apartment one evening. There had been burning embers of fury in her eyes and she had let him have it with both barrels. He had sat in stunned silence while she had screamed and raged at him, and had taken her into his arms when the anger finally burned out into wounded and bewildered tears.   
They had made up, he promising her he was excited and happy about impending fatherhood, but the distance between them remained. He went to her doctors appointments when he was around, but more often than not he made sure he was traveling for work. They discussed names, and agreed on Samuel for a boy. She had suggested Samantha for a girl, but he had nixed that. One Samantha in his life had been more than enough. He had suggested William, after her Father, but her brother already had the name, and it was her nephew's middle name. So, it was Samuel. He could handle Samuel, for a boy, though. They hadn't settled on a girl's name by the time she went into labor. He had suggested Melissa, after her sister, but she hadn't been sure about that either, for much the same reason he didn't want Samantha. Madison, Karen, Sarah, and Ashley had all been better possibilities. His personal favorite was Danica, but she hadn't liked that one, it was too close to her own name.  
They had agreed not to find out the gender of the baby until it was born. They hadn't found a place together yet, mostly because of her blood pressure concerns, so there was no nursery to decorate. He had bought a few things, two or three unisex outfits, a couple of toys. She had bought more pragmatic things, diapers and bottles, baby wipes, pacifiers. There was no baby shower, that would have to wait until after the baby was born, because of her blood pressure.   
He was on the road when he got the call she had been rushed to the hospital. The high blood pressure had turned into preeclampsia and she was going into kidney failure, as well as experiencing liver distress. It was still nearly a month early, but they had to take the baby immediately. They had known from the beginning that she was at a heightened risk for preeclampsia; her Mother's older sister had died from it back in the late 50's, she was over 40, and it was her first pregnancy. When she had developed severe high blood pressure early during her sixth month of pregnancy, but no other signs of organ damage, she had been immediately put on bed rest. Her Mother had called him, not crying yet but the distress in her voice clear. Both baby and Mother's lives were in jeopardy, could he come home?  
He had come home, but not in a great hurry. More in a daze. He had gotten the earliest flight home he could arrange, but it took several hours. He was in Utah, investigating strange light patterns that had corresponded with crop circles over a period of 11 weeks over the previous summer. He went straight to the hospital when he got home. Her mother hadn't called again, so he assumed she was still in labor, or c-section surgery. This changed when he walked into the waiting room and saw her Mother and two brothers.  
Margaret Scully was crying. It was the first thing he noticed. Her brother Bill was holding his Mother. He looked angry, and his eyes were wet, though his tears stubbornly refused to fall. Her brother Charlie stood apart from his Mother and brother. Tears ran openly down his face. He was the black sheep of the family, but was close with his youngest sister anyway, and his oldest sister, before her death. Neither brother said a word to Mulder when he appeared. Charlie had looked away, and Bill had maintained a silent but angry gaze. Her Mother was the one who went to him when she noticed Bill's look. She had hugged him, but he hadn't been able to hug her back. His mind ran from the implications. The baby… the baby must not have made it. It had to be the baby. Mrs. Scully could only point when he asked where she was.   
The walk down the short hallway to the private room seemed to take an eternity. He didn't want to face it. He felt numb, everything felt numb. His legs, his arms, his brain, his heart. His soul. The first thing he noticed in the room was that it was dark; the lights that were left on were dimmed. The second thing he noticed was the silence. The machines surrounding the bed in the center of the room were turned off, still and dark.  
She was still lying in the bed. A sheet covered her, but was pulled down and folded over, leaving her head, neck, and the top of her shoulders uncovered. Someone, most likely her mother, had smoothed her hair down flat against the pillow. It settled around her head in a fiery red halo. She looked peaceful. Asleep, but pale. Impossibly pale.   
He pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat down beside her. He stared at her, willing some movement from her, a twitch, a spasm, anything at all. But there was nothing. Just an unnatural stillness about her, the sense of everything in her having come to a stop, every organ, every cellular function from the largest of her systems to the least. He stared at her until he couldn't stand the stillness. He reached under the thin blanket and took her hand in his. It was cold. Not cold in the way your hands might get chilled on a windy winter day, but cold like a stone. Cold like the absence of life. Cold from within, not from without. The way his heart felt as he held her hand in that dim, darkened room, with her but all alone.  
He stayed there for what could have been ten minutes, or twenty, or an hour or more. Time seemed to have stopped. Finally, abruptly, he stood and left the room, head down. He walked briskly down the hall that had seemed so long in arriving and through the waiting room without a word or a glance to anyone. He was near the exit to the hospital, no thought on where he was going or what he would do when he got there, when he heard his name ring out behind him.  
“Mulder!”  
He turned and looked behind him. Her brother stood there, hands in his pockets. His face was sad and full of grief, but his eyes were hard, like steel. They looked at one another in silence for perhaps ten seconds, before her brother spoke again.  
“She asked for you. You're the only one she asked for. Again and again.” Bill walked closer to him as he spoke, never taking his eyes from Mulder's. “You were the only one she wanted. She was scared, you know, and in pain.” The tears in Bill Scully's eyes were building but they didn't fall. “Where were you, you bastard? You knew she wasn't well, that her hypertension could become more severe at anytime.” Bill's face was in his now, inches from his nose. “She needed you.” Bill's voice cracked as he spoke. “She needed you. Where the Hell were you?” A single tear slipped down one of Bill's cheeks, and he couldn't stand seeing her brother cry. It made it too real, and it being real was worse, so much worse, than the accusations Bill was aiming at him.   
He turned without a word, leaving her brother standing alone and watching him. He left the hospital, walking quickly through the parking lot to his car. He climbed in the car and sat in the silence for a moment before it began to swallow him whole. Glancing at the passenger seat, there was almost a ghost of her there. He could see her there, rolling her eyes at some ridiculous thing he had said. He could see her smile, the sparkle in her blue eyes; he could hear her laugh, could smell the faint flowery scent of her perfume. He felt his chest tighten and pain twisted in his guts.   
He reached out for the radio blindly and twisted the knob to turn it on, to let some sound, any sound, drive the memories away. The radio roared to life, exploding suddenly into the silence. 

“If I could turn back time  
If I could find a way  
I'd take back all the words that hurt you   
And you'd stay”

His hand flashed out and turned the knob on the car radio violently, desperate to cut off Cher's singing, which seemed so much more accusatory than even Bill Scully's words had been. The dial spun around nearly a full circle. Sarah McLachlan's sad, poignant voice filled the car.

“Don't let your life pass you by  
Weep not for the memories  
Remember the good times that we had?”

He spun the dial to change the station again, desperate now to find some music that wouldn't make him think of her, that wouldn't make him dwell on their past, and their suddenly non-existent future. This time it was an oldie, The Cavaliers.

“I held her close  
I kissed her our last kiss  
I found the love  
That I knew I would miss”

He lashed out at the radio, meaning to turn it off, but in his desperate fury he snapped the knob off the radio. He jabbed at the empty indent, trying to make the music go off.

“Now she's gone  
Even though I hold her tight  
I lost the love of my life  
That night”

 

He began punching the radio, trying to make the sound stop. He couldn't turn it off and he couldn't lower the volume, the same knob controlled both functions.

“Where oh where can my baby be?  
The Lord took her away from me  
She's gone to heav-”

The sound of the radio whined and died, the blows finally putting an end to the cruel litany of music. Blood ran down his knuckles, scratched and cut from the broken plastic. The silence that filled the car was almost deafening, and he was left alone with the ghost of her memory. He finally broke as the weight of everything crashed down on him, the truth of it hitting home, his entire world shattering at his feet. There would be no reprieve this time, no close call, no second chances. And he hadn't even been there… He put his head down on the steering wheel, his face in his hands, and sobbed.

He couldn't believe it. She was gone.


	2. Chapter 2 - Let Her Go

He drank. It was the only thing he could think to do.

He drank until he forgot her, forgot the times they spent together, forgot how much she meant to him. He drank until the liquor filled the hole that seemed to have opened up in his soul, drowning away every emotion, along with his sanity. Than he drank until it overflowed.   
He was stone drunk two hours before the bar closed, but he left the bar with a six pack of beer and a fifth of cheap whiskey at closing. His car was parked at the back of the lot, in the shadows under a large tree. He sat in the car and drank until oblivion finally came for him.   
When he finally woke up the next morning the sun was high in the sky and bright and the inside of the car was uncomfortably hot even in the shade of the tree. There were birds singing cheerfully, and he could hear kids screaming with laughter somewhere down the block. None of these things did anything to help the pounding in his skull. He shifted in his seat, and pain jolted through his stiff back.  
Unfortunately, it didn't take long for him to remember what he had been drinking to forget. Fresh pain seared through his heart as he remembered the night before. Grief and guilt rose up in a wave and washed over and through him. Reaching for one of the unopened beer cans, he noticed the light on his cell phone was blinking. He paused, started to ignore it, than reached out and picked up the phone anyway. Two missed calls were from Skinner, one was from his own Mother, and four were from her Mother.   
He started to put the phone down, not really caring to hear what any of them had to say, but thought better of it. Her Mother had called. He owed it to her, at least, to listen to her messages. He listened through the messages with little care or attention. His pounding head and hangover were making it difficult to concentrate. Finally, after what seemed like a year on the phone, he came to Maggie Scully's last voice message.  
“Fox? This is Maggie again. I'm very worried about you. Please, call me back. They need to speak with you at the hospital, too, so call them as soon as you can. They need to talk to you about the baby, and they need your permission to perform a few procedures. You should come and meet her. She needs her Father now, and I think maybe you need her. Stay safe, Fox.”   
His eyes widened and he was instantaneously sober, his hangover forgotten. The baby? The baby had survived, it was alive? He played the message back and listened to it again, than again another time. The baby was alive, and it was a girl. A daughter. They had a daughter.   
He sat in the front seat for a few moments, trying to collect his thoughts but unable to. They kept returning back to the same thing. They had a daughter, and she was alive. His movement was sudden, and fluid. He swept the half bottle of whiskey and the beer cans, both empty and unopened, out of the passenger side door. He left them on the ground in the parking lot, underneath the tree at the back of the lot. He peeled rubber exiting the lot and heading back to the hospital.   
His disheveled appearance and the sour stink of alcohol coming through his pores turned some heads as he walked through the hospital lobby. He ignored them, and took the stairs instead of the elevator to the NICU on the third floor. But before he went up, he stopped and bought a pack of mint chewing gum. He approached the receptionist to ask where he could find the baby when he heard a familiar voice behind him.  
“Fox! You got my messages, are you alright?” The concern in Maggie Scully's voice sent shards of guilt through him again. He froze for a second before turning to her. His eyes were hopeful.  
“The baby, you said the baby, is alive?” he asked her softly. His eyes searched hers, desperately. “Is she still alive?”  
In spite of everything that had happened, that was happening, Maggie Scully smiled at him. “Yes, she's alive. The baby is going to be fine Fox, just fine. She's a bit premature and her lungs are a little underdeveloped, but she's going to live. She'll be able to come home from the hospital in a week or two.”   
In spite of everything, he felt a very small smile twitch across his lips. “Can I see her?”

He stood outside of the nursery window next to Maggie Scully, looking into the room eagerly. There were five babies inside of incubators in the room, three were coded with pale blue, and two were coded with pale pink. Maggie Scully pointed to the farther pink incubator. “There she is, Fox.”  
He watched as a nurse wheeled the incubator out to them. The name on the tag that was taped to the incubator read 'Baby Girl Mulder'. The nurse took the baby out of the incubator and placed her very carefully in Mulder's arms. She was tiny, but not extremely so. Mulder nodded absently as the nurse told him he could only hold her for a few minutes before she needed to go back in the incubator. He couldn't take his eyes off of the baby. The newborn squirmed in his arms a bit and fussed slightly, and he gently and soothingly shushed her, bouncing slightly. The baby opened her eyes, eyes that were shaped just like her Mother's, and gazed up at her Father. They were a newborn's steely blue-gray. He fell in love. Still, a question nagged at him, a question he didn't dare to ask, and he pushed it away.  
“She's beautiful. She looks just like her Mother.” he said to Maggie, still not able to look away from the little girl in his arms. “What's her name?”  
“She doesn't have a name yet. You have to pick one for her.” Maggie responded softly, looking down at the baby as well. “I know you and Dana had a few in mind, but hadn't narrowed it down completely for the girl names.”  
At the mention of her name, he felt pain stab through him. He handed the baby gently over to Maggie. “Are you going to take her?” he asked quietly.   
Maggie Scully looked up from the baby. “Excuse me?”  
“The baby.” He couldn't bring himself to look at her Mother. “I, can't keep her. I don't know anything about raising a baby. You'll take her, won't you?” He didn't dare ask if she'd let him see the baby. It didn't seem right to ask her for anything.   
“No, Fox, I can't take the baby. I won't.” Maggie replied incredulously. He looked up at her, surprised. “I'm older now, Fox, and I already raised my children. I don't have it in me to raise a child anymore, certainly not an infant. She'll be going home with you.”  
“But, I can't, I can't raise a child, a daughter. I don't know the first thing about newborns, or raising little girls, or children...” Especially not on my own…  
Maggie Scully smiled at him, gentle but set. “Fox, no parent knows those things when they first become parents. It's all about learning.” She purposely caught his eye and held it. “I understand this is going to be very difficult for you, maybe more than you even do. When my children were small, my husband was constantly away for work, sometimes for months at a time. When little Bill was born his Father was away. He didn't meet Bill until he was 6 weeks old. By the time Dana was born, I was all alone, in a strange country, most of the time with just a three year old, a two year old, and a newborn.”  
He was visibly pained at the mention of her name and started to pull away, that particular noisome question welling up in his mind again, but Maggie plunged on ahead and turned his attention back to her. “I know it isn't exactly the same. My husband was still alive, I wasn't grieving, and by the time Dana was two he had a job with the Navy that didn't have him away from us so often. But, I do know what it's like to be on your own with a young child and no idea what you're doing.”  
He looked at Maggie, than down at the baby, and collapsed into a chair, head in his hands. “How am I supposed to do this… How am I supposed to do this on my own?” There was that question again, nagging at him, but he didn't want to ask it. He was too afraid of the answer, and he didn't want to ask her Mother. He just couldn't.   
Maggie Scully held the baby against her and patted his shoulder. “I know it seems impossible now, but you'll make it through, Fox. You'll learn, and before you know it she'll be walking and talking.” Maggie Scully paused a moment. “And you won't be raising her entirely on your own, either. I said I won't raise her, I didn't say I wouldn't be there to help you whenever I can.”  
He looked up, feeling shock and intense gratitude. Maggie smiled at him. “My daughter may be gone, but this little one is still my grandchild, and I will always consider you a part of the family.” She leaned forward and kissed his forehead, and he felt tears begin to prickle behind his eyes.

After they took the baby and put her back in the nursery Maggie left to go home and get some sleep, promising to come back first thing in the morning. She suggested he do the same, but he told her he wanted to stay at the hospital with the baby a little longer. He waited about half an hour, than returned his Mother's phone call from that morning.  
“Mom? Yeah, it's me. Yes, I know you did. I know. I'm sorry. Listen, Mom, I just wanted to know if you wanted to come down to the hospital and meet your granddaughter? Yeah. She's doing alright, she's in the NICU now in an incubator, but she'll be able to come home in a few weeks. Yeah, with me. Yes, Mom, I know that. Yeah. Yeah, I know. Alright Mom, I'll see you when you get here.”   
He stood in front of the glass and watched the baby in the incubator. Although he was afraid, and so full of grief it was devastating, there was an overflowing sensation of pure love flowing through him as well. He couldn't take his eyes from her, not only because she mesmerized him, but because if he looked to his left or right he knew that he would feel, even see perhaps, the ghost of her Mother's memory standing beside him. And again the question he couldn't bring himself to ask forced its way to the front of his brain. Did she get to hold the baby before she passed away? Did she ever get to meet her daughter, this child she had wanted more than anything in the world? Did she at least get a chance to see her?  
He was so engrossed in his thoughts and watching the baby that he didn't hear his own Mother walk up behind him. He jumped when she put her hand on his shoulder and spoke his name. He spun quickly, saw his Mother, and smiled slightly. “Mom!”  
Teena Mulder didn't return the smile. There was a certain, distance, between her and her only son. It had begun after her daughter had disappeared, as though she felt she could no longer trust herself with her only remaining child. It had worsened into a near non-relationship after he had confronted her about the true identity of their biological Father. Her bearing was regal and aristocratic and distant. “Well. Which one is yours?” she asked him, looking into the nursery.   
He pointed to the incubator in the back. “She's right there, back center.” He looked away from the nursery, attempting to locate a nurse. “Hang on, let me find someone to bring her out.”  
“Oh, that really isn't necessary, Fox. I can see her another time.” Teena told him, turning away from the window. She seemed not to notice her son falter uncertainly. “I came out here to see if you were alright more than I came to meet the baby, really, anyway.” She paused for a moment. “I was very sorry to hear about what happened. It's very, unfortunate.”   
He nodded, brushing the condolences aside, not wanting to face the reality of it. He hadn't even begun to think about what it would be like to attend her funeral, hadn't even thought of the fact that there would even be such a thing. “Are you sure you don't want to meet your granddaughter, Mom?” he asked, barely able to comprehend. He had thought she would be excited, especially since the baby was a girl.  
Teena Mulder glanced at her son sidelong. “I would like to meet her before you send her off, yes, I suppose.”  
“What do you mean, 'send her off'?” he asked. A twist of anger in the pit of his stomach suggested he already had a feeling of what she was referring to.   
Teena looked at her son like he was a fool. “Well, before she's adopted, of course.” When her son didn't respond she continued. “Fox, you can't possibly be seriously considering keeping that child.”   
“No, Mom, I'm not considering it, seriously or otherwise.” he responded softly, no longer meeting her eye. “I am keeping her. I told you she was coming home, with me, in a few weeks. I would never consider giving my child up.” Though he spoke softly and with little inflection the dig was clear, and left a feeling like frost in the air between them. He did not mention his earlier imploring to Maggie Scully; he could already hardly believe that he had even considered allowing her to take the baby, let alone asking her to.  
They looked at one another without speaking for a moment. Than Teena sighed, and it seemed as though her entire body sighed with her. Her posture relaxed and her shoulder's drooped slightly. “I hope you have some idea of what you're getting into here, Fox.”  
“No, Mom. I guess I really don't have any idea at all. But she's my, she's our daughter, and no matter what it means, I can't give her up.” He paused, not sure he wanted to say the next words. “I was hoping you would help me. You know more than I do about kids.”  
Teena Mulder looked at her son, taken aback. She had never expected to hear her son asking for parenting advice from her. Similarly, he had never thought in a million years she would be someone he would ever ask that from. “Fox… I don't know how much help I'll be to you. But I'll do what I can.”  
He nodded and murmured a thanks. They both turned back and looked into the nursery again, not speaking to one another. Teena Mulder glanced over at her son and saw a pain in his eyes that she had not seen there since he was a little boy. This pain was perhaps even more than that one had been. She put her hand on his shoulder gently and he looked up at her. “I am proud of you, Fox. For what you're doing. Many men, if not most, in your position, would walk away and give up, and I hope you do realize that I wasn't trying to tell you that I didn't want you to keep the baby. I, I just can't even begin to imagine how difficult this is going to be for you, raising a child alone and through grief. I'll help you with anything I can, and I mean that.”  
He nodded, fighting tears building behind his eyes. “Thanks, Mom.” he said quietly. The hug he gave her was quick and awkward, but he also realized there was some amends being made here, some healing process being started between them. They stood there for several minutes in silence, just watching the babies. Finally, Teena looked at her son.  
“So, Fox, how about finding that nurse? I'd like to meet my granddaughter.”

He made it home by about 11. His Mother had left the hospital about an hour before he had. She had seemed disappointed that the baby seemed to take more after Dana's side than the Mulders, but had held her for a good thirty minutes. She had suggested, very strongly, that he should name the baby Samantha, but he had shrugged the suggestion off, mostly. It was the name she had wanted too, and it was this that made it so difficult for him to drop it.   
The emptiness of the house swallowed him when he walked in. He made his way into the kitchen and just stood there, looking around. Everything there was hand picked by her. He walked over to the fridge and felt tears prickling his eyes. There was a whiteboard on the front with a grocery list on it, handwritten in her painfully familiar script:  
Milk  
Toothpaste  
Pears  
Baking Soda  
Dish Soap  
It was the last grocery list she would ever write, and it broke his heart. He opened the fridge on impulse, to get it out of his sight, and instead found himself greeted by the neatly stored and labled leftovers of the last meals she would ever cook. Tuna Casserole. Chicken and grilled veggies. Broccoli Alfredo.   
The tears threatening to fall broke free, along with the flood of painful guilt they were holding back. She was supposed to be on bed rest, but she had been up cooking, that much was clear. Because he had kept himself on the road as much as possible, running from his fears, from his impending family and fatherhood. Her Mother couldn't be there every day, and she had been up, out of bed and on her feet. Cooking, probably cleaning too. Running errands, even.   
He groped weakly for a chair and sat down heavily, head in his hands. He pushed his hair back from his forehead as his head slid down his hands before finally gripping the ends of his hair and tugging, first slightly, than harder, trying to chase his mental anguish away with the physical pain, tugging until his face was distorted, the skin around his eyes pulled taut. When he was with other people, he was able to keep the guilt and pain at bay, but once he was alone it crashed down on him like a tsunami wave.   
“It's my fault. It's all my fault. I did this. I did this...” he moaned in anguish. “I should have been here. This is my fault. I'm so sorry...”. His tears continued to fall, his self-loathing only intensifying with his wracking sobs. He had never wanted to take anything back so much in his entire life, not even his last words spoken to his sister. Finally he stood and went to the cabinet in the center of the hutch in the dinning room. On the shelves on either side of the cabinet dim yellow light called attention to the antique knickknacks she had inherited from her Grandmother. He took the mostly full 1-liter bottle of Wild Turkey Rye 101 out of the cabinet, by-passing the larger bottle of Vodka in front of it and ignoring the random assortment of other liquors behind it. He wasn't in the mood to have his liquor diluted tonight, and he skipped over the shot glass as well. Tonight was a straight from the bottle night.  
Sitting at the kitchen table he knocked back several large gulps in quick succession, thankful for the resultant burn in his throat and the subsequent fire in the pit of his stomach. A few more gulps and her ghost seemed to fade from his mind just a bit, just enough to allow his tears to slow.   
He took another long swig from the bottle and grimaced. It would be at least half the bottle before he would sleep. He knew he couldn't keep doing this, knew that he had to find another way to find some level of peace, some way to go on, if not for himself than for his child. Their daughter… He couldn't be passed out drunk every night with a child, a newborn, in the house. Their daughter only had him to depend on. But for now, for tonight… Just tonight…

He drank. It was the only thing he could think to do.


	3. Chapter 3 - How Do I Live?

Chapter 3: How Do I Live?

He dreamt of her.

He had stumbled into her bedroom in a booze-soaked stupor sometime during the early morning hours. He brought the bottle of Wild Turkey with him but abandoned it on the dresser before collapsing onto the bed. His first few hours of sleep were spent in a murky dreamless abyss, but this faded away and turned into memory after memory of her. That first case, so many years ago now, in Bellefleur. Talking in the hotel room with the electricity out. How she had listened, really listened to him talk about Samantha. How she hadn't thought he was just insane, completely insane anyway, and how she had actually seemed to care. How she had ended up in his room that night, spooked by mosquito bites on her back because of the case. That had been the first time he had seen her partially undressed, though thankfully far from the last. Other cases, other places, other times, they continued to flow through his soul.  
The dreams were crystal clear, more like reliving than remembering or dreaming. As they went on, he began to realize they were dreams. Some part of him remembered the awful, inevitable truth, could not escape it even in sleep... 

*He looked up at her and a deep ache thundered in his chest. She was laying on her bed, baby name books and pregnancy books and other assorted baby-themed book paraphernalia surrounding her. In her hand was a spiral notebook, uncapped black and red ballpoint pens abandoned next to her. Her hair was longer now, paler, and she was positively glowing with happiness. It had been a good night, one of the better between them since she had found out she was pregnant, and she was utterly basking in the enjoyment of it all. Her baby bump was showing. It had only been maybe a month ago, six weeks at most.   
“What do you think of Shelly for a girl?” she asked him.  
“Eh, I don't know… I'm not a fan of derivatives as a first name.” He had responded absently.  
“Well, what about Karen, then?” she asked. “Or Madison?”  
“Madison is too founding-father for me. Karen's alright.” Something began to feel wrong, off. He could hear his responses doubling back to him as he became lucid. Knowing what she was going to say before it came out, and remembering what his responses had been before he spoke them. She was quiet for a moment, thoughtful.  
“Mulder, what do you think of Sarah?” she asked him, not looking up.  
He didn't provide the answer he had given, couldn't, because by now he knew that he was only dreaming, and he couldn't bring himself to speak. His throat was too tight as he watched her, heard her… He could even smell her. He drank in everything he could about her as he realized he never would again.  
She repeated the question, and he still couldn't answer. She looked up with a slight frown to see what was distracting him, and her eye's widened in surprise.   
“Mulder, what's wrong?” she asked him as tears slid down his cheeks.  
“You're gone.” he whispered. “You're gone, and I don't know what to do. I don't know how I'm supposed to live without you.”  
She smiled, and it was pure radiance. If he could have lived in that moment of time forever, he gladly would have. “Mulder. I'm right here.”  
He could feel himself shaking his head as the tears ran more quickly. “But you're not, you're not...”  
She sat up on her knees and grabbed his hand, and he felt her, felt her touch against his skin and knew it was her. Her scent engulfed him when she leaned close, holding his eyes with her own.  
“I am here. I will always be here.” She kissed him, and he could taste her kiss on his lips, so familiar, and he knew than that he would ache for it for the rest of his life.   
She sat back and smiled at him, a little more sadly now. “Take care of our princess. I love you, Mulder.”*

He jerked awake, the taste of her kiss still on his lips. He could smell her all around him, like she had just been in the room not a minute earlier. His pillow and his cheeks were soaked with tears. Breathing was painful, his chest tight and burning as he gasped air into his constricted lungs. He sat up quickly and had to put his head down to keep the room from tilting and spinning. He shut his eyes tightly and willed the whiskey in his stomach to stay there. The dream had been bittersweet, and the pain of it was almost unendurable. But somehow his gasping sobs slowed and he caught his breath and the feeling of vertigo left him. Opening his eyes, he could see sun shining brightly behind the heavy blinds in her bedroom and a glance at the alarm clock told him it was almost noon.   
He sat on the edge of the bed, her bed, and a loneliness like he had never felt engulfed him. It was similar to the way he had felt after Samantha had been taken, when he would enter their bedroom to see her too-neat bed sitting there and Samantha nowhere to be found. All of her toys still in the exact same places she had left them, collecting dust while they waited for her. They had become almost a strange melancholy memorial shrine for her as the years passed, but this feeling was somehow much worse than all of that. Perhaps it was the definitive finality of it all this time. He had spent most of his life expecting Samantha to come home someday. He knew that Scully never would.   
The nausea returned as sudden as it was intense, and he nearly didn't make it to the bathroom to lose everything in his stomach in one burning spasm. There was nothing but alcohol in there anyway; he hadn't eaten in more than two days. He reached for the handle to flush the mess, than paused and left the room. He returned a moment later with the rest of the whiskey as well as the bottle of vodka. They were the only two really hard liquors in the house. He poured them into the toilet slowly, one at a time, watching the stream with almost hypnotized interest. When both bottles were empty he threw them into the bathroom garbage before finally flushing the unpleasant mixture in the toilet. It wasn't much, but it felt like something, at least. Some sense of resolve came back to him with the action.   
The shower he took was icy cold, and it chased some of the mud from his mind from the hangover, but he still felt like he was in a haze when he stepped out to dry off. He shaved the stubble that had accumulated the last couple of days and brushed his teeth twice, trying to get rid of the sour tang of bile and alcohol that was left behind. He chased the toothpaste with a heavy dose of mouthwash. He dressed in the work clothes he kept at her house, a steel gray suit with a dark striped blue tie. Looking at himself in the mirror, he looked incredibly normal, unless you payed close attention to his dark and sunken eyes.   
He went into the living room where her desktop computer was set up and typed up a letter. It was terse and to the point. While it printed he went and retrieved his service piece from the kitchen table where he had left it the night before and made sure he had his FBI identification card on him in his wallet.   
Waiting for the letter to print, he thought about how easy it would be to end everything, all of his pain and grief, right here. Right now. His hand twitched around the gun he was holding and he stared into empty space with his now empty eyes…  
If the baby hadn't lived, he might have done it. Even still, there was that moment of hesitation before he put the gun into its holster at his waist and folded the letter up and placed it in a plain envelop which then went into his inner jacket pocket. He started to head out her front door, than backtracked into the kitchen. He had thought of something from the dream.  
He dug through the drawers in the kitchen, disheveling several before he located the palm-sized spiral notebook she had been keeping baby name ideas in. He flipped it back to the last page with writing on it as he recalled what he had actually told her when she suggested Sarah. He had told her it was cute, and she had said she thought so too. I told her I liked it...

Kellie  
Erin  
Shelly  
Madison  
Karen  
Sarah

There it was, circled in red ink, the only name they had both managed to agree on. He remembered her picking up the red ballpoint now, remembered seeing her circle it. She had mentioned that it even went well with Samuel if they happened to have another child. Staring down at her handwriting, he knew that it was right, that it was the name the baby was meant to have. His daughter. Their daughter. Sarah. It was only than that he recalled her wording to him in the dream. She had told him to take care of their princess. His eyes welled with tears and he couldn't help questioning if it really was just a dream when he remembered that Sarah was a Hebrew name that meant 'princess'. 

He chewed Excedrin while he drove to the Hoover Building, the pills turning into a bitter powder that coated his tongue and throat. His hangover had settled into a miserable migraine-like ache, and the dark glasses he wore as he entered the building were for more than hiding his tear-reddened eyes. For once, Skinner didn't keep him waiting for an obscene length of time. This was a merciful gesture on his part, because it was immediately clear to Mulder that word was making its way around. A few agents offered tentative condolences on the loss of his partner, but most just averted their eyes. They were not an item as far as their employer was concerned, but rumors of that had gotten around too. He found the genuinely pitying gaze of Skinner's secretary when she thought he wasn't looking at her to be the most galling to him.  
Skinner called him into the office without looking him in the eyes. Though Skinner's mannerism suggested he was rushed at first, he realized that the man just didn't know what to do or say when Skinner finally made eye contact with him, and he saw tears there. Neither man moved to be seated, and the silence grew thick enough to choke.  
“Mulder…”. Skinner tried to begin but trailed off. He cleared his throat to try again. “Mulder, I'm sorry. I know it isn't good enough, but what else is there? She was a good agent, a damn good agent, but more than that she was a good person.” Skinner's voice cracked and the man looked away as Mulder gave him a slight nod. “If there is anything we can do for you, anything I can do, don't hesitate to ask.”  
He nodded again. He knew he should say thank you, but he couldn't bring the words out of his mouth. Just being here at all was harder than he had thought it would be, and it drove home to him that he was making the right decision. To his amazement, he had no regrets about it, no lingering feelings that he was making the wrong decision. He thought perhaps it was her, guiding his actions from whatever place she was in now. The only regret he was feeling was that he hadn't made the decision sooner. Maybe it could have made a difference for her than.   
Skinner had made his way over to his desk and seated himself. Mulder moved closer to the desk but made no motion to seat himself. Despite his self-assurance, he was having difficulty making the last motion and removing the letter from his inner jacket pocket. Skinner looked up as he stood awkwardly in front of the desk. “How is the baby doing, Mulder? I know she's a bit premature but Mrs. Scully told me she was healthy otherwise?”  
The mention of his daughter made him smile, and also got him moving. “She is, she's beautiful, she'll be able to come home in a few weeks. Her name is Sarah, you'll have to meet her someday.” As he spoke he handed the typed letter to his boss.  
“What's this?” Skinner asked, but his tone suggested he already had a good idea of what it was before he opened it.  
“My letter of resignation.” he answered. “My last day is two weeks from today, technically, but I'm planning to call in the personal time I have saved up, so it's effective immediately.” His voice was even, almost jovial.   
“Mulder, I'm not sure this is the best time to be making major life decisions-” Skinner began carefully, but Mulder interrupted him.  
“You're probably right, but the decision is mine and has already been made. It should have been made the day I found out I was going to be a Father.”  
Skinner was quiet for a moment before looking back up at him. “You do understand that this will be the end of the X-Files, don't you? Without you pushing them, they will shut them down and lock them up so tightly someone finding them again will be a miracle.”  
And there was the pain he had been expecting. So much time and effort, his entire life's work, everything that had mattered to him before. Not just that, but the chance of getting justice. Justice for Samantha and her abduction. Justice for Scully and her abduction. Justice for anyone out there like them. Justice, and simple understanding and belief, for anyone out there being terrorized by the supernatural. It would all be gone.  
He swallowed and nodded. “I do. I understand. I really hope someone else comes along, soon, to push them again, someone unattached. But I can't do this anymore. My Father got in over his head and it cost him his daughter. I won't risk mine, not for anything in this world or any other.” He hoped it wasn't already too late, and that the syndicate would not come after them in the future because of anything he already knew.   
Skinner couldn't argue with that particular point, it was too true. But that didn't mean he was giving up on it so easily. “I'm going to hang onto this for a month. After that we'll talk again. You have the time saved up to take a month off with pay, and it isn't unreasonable considering the circumstances. After you've had some time to clear your head we'll see if you change your mind.”  
“You do what you have to, but I won't be changing my mind. Even if I wanted to, I can't. It's too dangerous. Remaining in the FBI at all is too dangerous. The only thing Sarah has is me now. I won't put her in danger, and I won't put myself in danger either.”  
Skinner nodded and put the letter in the top drawer of his desk. “What are you planning to do now, if not the FBI?”   
He shrugged slightly and found himself chewing his bottom lip. “I really don't know. I guess I'll take a little time off for now, learn how to do this Dad-thing. Maybe I'll go back and get my Masters or Doctorate. I haven't really thought about it too much yet.” The question had multitudes of implications that sent chills through him. He'd never considered another career, and it reminded him deeply of how much uncertainty lay before him. It was like his entire life had turned into a deep abyss and Sarah was the only light, the only buoy of hope he had left to keep from drowning.   
He held his hand out to Skinner. “I better get going. I haven't been to the hospital to see the baby yet.” He paused a second, than added an addendum. “Stop by sometime if you get a chance.”  
Skinner shook his hand and nodded, saying that he would, but there was a peculiar look in his eyes. It wasn't until Mulder was in the elevator going down to the parking garage that it occurred to him what it was. He was leaving the FBI, trying to distance himself, and yet here he was trying to maintain contact with someone still in the middle of everything. Skinner might want to visit, but he would never do it.   
He was surprised by how sad it made him feel. They hadn't been terribly close, but he had been an ally to them over the years, and one of the closest things to a friend Mulder had had. Though he had never been particularly bothered by his lack of social camaraderie, it was weighing very heavily on his soul just now.   
He spent the rest of the day at the hospital with baby Sarah. Mrs. Scully was there before him and had already left, but she came back briefly after dinner. She was delighted by the name, and told him that Dana's first baby doll had been named Sarah. She promised to see if she could find it for him. She also informed him that Bill was going to be stopping by sometime that week with her, and that she would keep him on his best behavior.   
His Mother didn't come to visit again, but she did call him back eventually. She wasn't particularly pleased that he didn't intend to name his daughter after his sister, but acknowledged that Sarah was a pretty name, and at least it started with an 'S'. He thought that using Ann as a middle name subdued her annoyance a bit, too.   
He made it back to his own apartment without stopping at the liquor store, and immediately poured what he had laying around down the sink. Looking around the apartment, he was suddenly pleased that he was on a month-to-month lease now. There was no way he would have enough room to raise even an infant in a single-bedroom apartment. He fed the fish, who were very grateful after not seeing him, or eating, for most of a week, but still didn't bother to feed himself. He tried to chat with the fish a bit, but they weren't very talkative. Sitting down on his couch and turning the TV on, he wondered if it was time to consider getting a dog now that he wouldn't be traveling for work constantly. Or maybe a cat at least. Something, anything, as long as it was friendly.  
The shows were mindless, but they kept his mind from drifting too much. The emptiness was getting to him, and by midnight he was resolved to get both a dog and a cat, preferably the very next day. By about three he was considering two of each might be a better idea. Sometime around five in the morning he managed to nod off between reruns of The Golden Girls, and cried in his sleep. 

He dreamt of her.


	4. Chapter 4: Time Marches On

Chapter 4: Time Marches On

He cried.

He cried when he attended her funeral. Sarah Ann Mulder was six days old.   
He managed to dress and leave the apartment without breaking down. He wore a solid black suit and solid black tie. The tie was purchased specifically for the occasion, and he considered burning the entire outfit afterwards. He couldn’t imagine wearing it for anything again. Pragmatism prevented him from following through with the whim.   
Before he left the house he placed a small bowl of water outside the door of his apartment in a blind remembrance of old customs he didn’t know much of anything about. He remembered it from his childhood, being six years old and dressed in his first suit, hair neatly brushed and smoothed down flat. His maternal grandmother had passed away, and before going to the funeral Teena had placed a pitcher of water on their stoop, Samantha perched on her hip and not quite two yet. Somehow she’d had the time and patience to explain to her curious son that it was a Jewish mourning custom and that they would all need to pour the water over their hands before entering the house when they came back from the cemetery. Teena’s Father had been Jewish, and some of the customs and traditions, along with the celebration of several holidays, had been passed down the line. He remembered starring at the water running over his hands as his Mother solemnly poured it over them after they returned from the funeral.   
He didn’t break down when he saw her in the coffin, prepared for the viewing. Her Mother’d had them dress her in a gorgeous pale green dress, her hands folded in front of her. Her gold cross necklace was missing. Unlike her sister Melissa, she would not be buried with it. It had been removed and set aside for Sarah when she was deemed old enough to care for it properly and not be apt to lose it.   
Maggie was friendly with him, as always, and insisted he sit at the front with the family. He compromised by sitting in the second row, directly behind the immediate family. Charlie and his wife were cordial, and he was introduced to Charlie’s two sons. Bill didn’t make a scene, but rather he and his family seemed to think he was invisible. The baby had not been released from the hospital, so he didn’t need to find a sitter at least. His Mother was otherwise engaged and not available, to babysit or to attend the funeral. He didn’t really mind; he wasn’t in the mood to deal with her anyway. He knew several of the FBI agents that came, but most didn’t stay for the service, only passing through to pay their respects to a colleague they had not known very well. Not many people from the FBI came at all, and this drove home the point of how isolated they had been, how isolated he had made her.   
Shortly before the services began a nervous woman entered, a young curly-haired teenage boy accompanying her. They looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place them. He lost interest in them quickly as they went over to Maggie, but a few minutes later they approached him as well.  
“Mulder, is it?” the woman asked, her hand on the boy’s shoulder. The kid clearly didn’t want to be there. He sensed that it was because he was upset and didn’t want to show it in front of a large group of people. He looked up at the woman and teenager, mildly confused, and nodded.   
She held out her hand. “I’m Ellen Schaffer; this is my son, Trent.” The names clicked into place before she added that Trent was Scully’s godson. That was why they looked familiar to him, she had kept several photographs of them framed around her home.   
“I just wanted to ask how you and the baby were doing, and tell you how sorry we are.” Ellen’s face was pained. “You couldn’t find a better person. She was always True Blue.”  
He shook her hand lightly as she spoke and nodded in agreement. He couldn’t bring himself to verbalize agreement; there was a sudden lump in his throat. He finally forced it down and murmured condolences to her and her son, as well. Trent averted his eyes and ducked his head lower. He felt a pang of sympathy for the kid, in spite of his own stifling grief. He offered the seats beside him to them and Ellen spent a few minutes telling him college stories about Dana before the services began. He didn’t do much of the talking, but he found an easy sort of comfort in the woman. He and Dana hadn’t discussed what religion to bring the baby up in, but he thought she would have liked to raise Sarah as a Catholic, as she had been raised. He himself had no qualms about this; his own sense of religious beliefs were a murky and undeveloped mixture of Presbyterian and Judaism that had mostly lapsed since his teenage years. He had a faint idea that he would need Godparents for Sarah if she were going to be raised Catholic, and the thought was brought to the forefront by the fact that Trent had been Scully’s God-son. Surely Ellen would have been her first choice for a God-Mother for Sarah; she was her only remaining close friend, even if their relationship had mostly waned over the last several years. As the priest began to speak and conversations abruptly ended he made a mental note to ask Ellen to come meet Sarah and offer the role to her. He could ask Charlie to be Sarah’s God-Father. It might even be a way for him to develop closer ties to Scully’s family; he probably owed that to Sarah.   
He didn’t cry as the priest spoke, talking about the eternal kingdom she was about to enter and how she was going home to the Lord. Father McCue had been the Scully family’s priest for a very long time, and the sorrow he expressed was genuine. He didn’t cry when Bill gave a surprisingly moving and non-confrontational eulogy for his sister, not even when Bill broke down into tears towards the end. Watching the man, he realized that Bill had aged ten years since he had last seen him at the hospital. He hadn’t thought much about it, but it must be difficult for him, having lost both of his little sisters, only a few years apart. Losing a sister, just once, had left a life-long stain on him. It was in that moment that he decided to make a concerted effort to make amends with Bill as best as he could, and to be sure he remained a part of Sarah’s life. He suddenly understood all of the man’s emotions.   
After Bill finished his eulogy Charlie’s oldest son, Dylan, did a reading from the bible that Maggie had selected. The priest invited anyone to come up and say a few words if they wished, and for a moment it looked like no one was going to take him up on his offer. He considered briefly in that silence, but knew he wouldn’t make it through, and that Bill at least would find the gesture to be grandstanding at his sister’s expense. Just as the moment seemed to pass with no offers, Ellen stood and made her way to the podium. The short speech she gave was awkward and stammering, clearly not planned ahead of time, but it was also heartfelt and few of those attending were left with dry eyes. Even Trent finally broke down as his Mother spoke about Dana going out of her way for her God-son.  
He didn’t break down himself until the service had concluded, and the walkout commenced. Margaret Scully knelt in front of the casket, made the sign of the cross, and stepped away, head down, crying softly. Bill and Charlie followed suit, their wives and children beside them. Young Matthew Scully, not quite school-age yet, fumbled his way through making the sign in a circular fashion that resembled an orchestra conductor more than anything else, and he found himself thinking of Sarah in just a few short years as he watched Tara take her son’s hand and lead him away. Than it was his turn. He knelt in front of the casket and felt his breath catch. He made the hand motion, head down, than looked up at her. Even in death she was still beautiful somehow. He stood, and than froze. He didn’t want to leave, couldn’t bring himself to walk out of that room. She wasn’t really here anymore, but he didn’t want to leave her. Knowing this was the last time, the very last time, he would ever look at her face. Knowing that once everyone left, they would close the lid and lock her away forever, deep beneath the ground. Down where the sun never shone, where it would never light upon her again and reveal the freckles she tried so hard to conceal with make-up because she thought they made her look like a child. Alone. Knowing this was goodbye, really goodbye. The final goodbye. It seemed to take an eternity to force himself to turn and walk away from her. When he did the weight of the thing fell on him.

He cried.

 

He cried when he brought Sarah home, just shy of three weeks old, and her Mother wasn't there to see. Maggie Scully spent the first week there with them, helping him get acclimated to and establish a schedule with the baby, making sure he knew everything he needed to know to take care of a newborn. After that she was only a phone call away, but Sarah and Mulder were on their own for the most part. Mulder was so terrified by this that he would have asked his own Mother to move in for awhile, but she was just beginning a three-week vacation to tour the Italian countryside, and had made it very clear in no uncertain terms that she was absolutely not missing the trip.   
The silence of the apartment was smothering after Maggie left, Sarah sound asleep in her crib in the bedroom. He had redone his bedroom in his apartment, throwing out his old bed and setting up a crib, changing table/baby dresser combo, rocking chair, and small single bed in the room instead. It was good enough for now, but eventually he would have to look into getting a two bedroom apartment, if not a house for himself and his daughter. The apartment would still be good enough for another year or so, though. He had never really used the bedroom anyway.  
He had to work to keep himself from going into the bedroom and waking the baby up. As much as he was afraid of being alone with her, afraid that he wouldn’t know what to do, or even worse that he would do something wrong and harm her, he was also uncomfortable with the silence and aloneness of the apartment. Instead of waking up the baby, he wandered into the kitchen and began flipping through a notebook Maggie had left for him, full of notes and tips. On the fridge was a schedule directing him when to feed, change, and bathe the baby. A small tower of baby books sat on the kitchen table next to the notebook; these he had scavenged from Scully’s home. He and Maggie had been pouring through them, attaching tabs to pages he would be most likely to need often or quickly. Important information in the books was highlighted and color coordinated. A legend taped next to the stack of books explained what each color indicated, lest Mulder forget. Also on the kitchen table was a much smaller stack of pamphlets. Various universities screamed for attention out of this colorful pile.   
During the three weeks that Sarah spent in the hospital Mulder had cemented his decision to go back to school. He could finish his Masters, or possibly even his Doctorate, before she started Kindergarten. Working as a psychologist or psychiatrist would give him enough income to raise Sarah on his own and give her a decent life, and it would be much safer than the FBI. He could start school with the fall semester; Sarah would be just over four months old than. He would be able to find a good day care for her, or perhaps a nanny. Maggie had already promised to help with babysitting while he was in school, and so had his own Mother, when she wasn’t away traveling or busy. The only thing he really had to decide was which schools he wanted to apply to. This was really only constrained by their proximity to the area; he couldn’t move too far away from the Grandmothers if he wanted them to be able to help out with childcare, and he wanted to raise Sarah with as much connection to her extended families as possible. Particularly her Mother’s side. 

Ultimately, he chose American University’s Clinical Psychology Ph.D program. They accepted him gladly, especially after the glowing recommendation Skinner wrote for him. No one mentioned aliens or paranormal phenomena. He started with the summer semester instead of waiting for the fall; he could get two accelerated semesters out of the way before the Fall semester even began and be well on his way to graduation before Sarah turned two. He cried when he left her with Maggie so he could go to class; it was the first time he had been away from her in over a month.  
Life settled into a routine as summer wore on. He was tired, but the work was almost simplistic to him, especially after his years in the FBI. After that, this was almost a vacation. He attended church with Maggie sporadically, usually having to step out with the baby well before mass was over. Teena strongly disapproved, but had stopped mentioning so after about two months. Now she contented herself with mentions of Hanukkah gifts for Sarah, a not-so-subtle reminder that she intended the baby be brought up with the heritage from both sides of her family, whether Daddy liked it or not. He didn’t mind; at least she was being involved, even if it was mostly out of jealously towards Maggie Scully.   
He continued talking to Ellen frequently; she was separated from her firefighter husband, Mike, and was going through a difficult time with her youngest son, Steven, as a result. Trent was a good kid, quiet and somewhat withdrawn. Steven, on the other hand, refused to speak to her after she left his Father. The nine year old had spent every other weekend with her without speaking a single word to her for five months. She had prompted the separation because Mike’s dangerous career was wearing on her more and more and she felt unable to take the constant worry. In speaking with her, it was clear that the separation wasn’t helping; she still cared about him, and worried anyway. She and Mulder took comfort in one another, and he enjoyed hearing stories about what Scully had gotten up to in college and before joining the FBI. He also appreciated Ellen’s parenting advice and help with Sarah, who she had gladly agreed to be the GodMother to. Ellen liked having someone to talk to; her decision to leave Mike had been met with disdain and outright disgust from most of her friends, and even her family. Most of them thought her both cruel and exceptionally selfish, and with her self-esteem in tatters she didn’t particularly disagree with them. Mulder listened to her, because he understood to some degree after having left the FBI himself, and because he didn’t really have anyone else either. His Mother didn’t speak to him about the friendship, but he had the distinct impression that she disapproved. Maggie, on the other hand, went out of her way to explicitly mention that she thought it was nice. Any attempts on his part to insist that they were only friends were brushed aside with admonishments that it wasn’t any of her business. He eventually gave up trying.  
He scheduled Sarah’s christening for mid-July; he would be between semesters at that point, and she would be just over three months old. She wore her Mother’s christening gown. Although Dana had been just over two months for her christening, the gown was still on the larger size for Sarah, who was still tiny for her age. He cried when Maggie brought her out in it and compared her to a photo of Dana from her christening. Teena Mulder attended, but her expression remained dour throughout the proceedings. She felt that Sarah should have been indoctrinated in the Presbyterian church she herself seldom attended, if any. Ellen stood as Sarah’s GodMother, and both Bill and Charlie Scully stood as her GodFathers. This decision on his part had been a stroke of brilliance, as it seemed to thaw Bill towards him immensely. Sarah was the first granddaughter/niece in the family after three grandsons/nephews and was being spoiled accordingly. A small gathering at a local restaurant followed the proceedings. He enjoyed the time out; it was refreshing to be out and socialize, but he could feel her shadow around him, filling in empty spaces where she would have laughed or added to the conversation.   
Life went on, as it always somehow does. Sarah Mulder hit her milestones early; this was a relief to her Father, who had been concerned because she was born premature. She sat up at just five months and was crawling by six. Her soft fine baby hair was platinum, and her eyes were bright blue. Daddy cried when those blue eyes began to change to hazel shortly before Sarah turned seven months old. He had hoped they might just stay blue, like her Mother’s, when she passed the six month point without them changing at all.   
He cried when Sarah said her first word at seven and a half months. It might have been a coincidence, but he thought there was purpose behind it. He had made a photo album for her that was filled with pictures of her Mother at various ages. He wanted her to know who Scully was, to know what her Mother looked and sounded like, what kind of a person she was. He kept the album in a box beneath the coffee table, and along with the album inside the box were video tapes that Scully was on, along with various voice recordings and letters he had written to Sarah about her Mother over the last half a year. He would pull the box out a couple times a week and try to show it to the baby, pointing to the pictures, or to the TV when he played the videos, and say “Look, Sarah! Look, there’s Mommy? Do you see Mama?” On this particular occasion he had the album out while Sarah played on the floor with a new toy Teena had brought her when she visited the previous week. When he held the album out and pointed to the picture, she reached out for it and bit the corner of the book. He considered this to be an attempt at a kiss. “Is that Mama?” he asked her. The baby looked at him and whined, and than it happened. She frowned, than managed to work out “Ma-mmmmbbbbb!” The word ended in a raspberry sound and bright laughter, but it was enough for her proud Papa to call Teena, Maggie, and Ellen with the news.   
Ellen and Mike decided to try a tentative reconciliation when Sarah was eight months old. He was happy for them, and he and Ellen remained friends and she continued to be a presence in Sarah’s life. But her domestic duties took over, and Mike was less than thrilled with his wife’s best friend being an unattached man. Not wanting to interfere in their fragile relationship, he stepped back. He had a suspicion that she would fade away within a few short years. Scully would become a distant memory as new friends took over, as Trent went off to college and Steven went to high school and started dating. Sarah would always be her God-daughter, but even Dana’s relationship with Trent had become distant long before Trent became a teenager. He understood it was how life worked, but he felt sorry for his daughter. Ellen was the one female influence in her life that wasn’t positively geriatric, and she was a wonderful source of stories about her Mother.   
He cried when Sarah took her first step two weeks before her first birthday. Teena was there to see it, and he managed to record it on video. It was her tip that had prompted him to get out the recorder; she had been babysitting while he was in class and had mentioned to him when she dropped the baby off that evening that Sarah was getting more adventurous and standing for longer periods of time. She had started letting go and standing on her own only a week before. Watching her take those three tentative steps before sitting down hard on her diapered bottom, he couldn’t help but think about how quickly time went by. Just under a year ago he had been waiting to bring her home from the hospital, a completely helpless newborn who depended on him for everything. And her Mama had missed it all.   
He had Sarah’s first birthday at Maggie’s house. They held it on her birthday, after church, because April 7th fell on a Sunday. He was glad that Maggie took over most of the preparations; he was exhausted from school. It had proven worth it though. Thanks to his accelerated classes and starting during the summer semester he was just over a month away from graduating with his Masters Degree in Psychology. He intended to continue and get his Doctorate, but part time; he already had a job as a psychologist lined up that began at the end of August. Teena attended the party, as did Ellen with her husband and both sons. Mike Schaffer’s behavior towards Mulder had thawed a bit over the last couple months, mostly out of pity as he learned more about the situation. It may have also been because he and Ellen had only spoken three times in the previous month and a half, and seen each other only once. Bill and Tara came as well, bringing Matthew. Tara was five months pregnant with their second and third children; they had discovered that she was having twins only a week earlier. Bill and Mulder’s relationship had been steadily improving since Mulder offered both brothers to be Sarah’s God-Fathers, but it still wasn’t much more than lukewarm. Sarah, on the other hand, was Bill’s little angel. Charlie came with his two sons; he and his wife had split six months before but the separation was amicable enough so far. He had rearranged weekends to get Dylan and Andrew for the party.   
Sarah was a ham; she relished in being the center of attention and getting to wear a pretty party dress. She was also very excited about all of the balloons. Her Father watched her play and get jostled from relative to relative with a cloud of sadness over him. The previous day had marked a full year since Scully had passed away. The juxtaposition of that sorrow with this celebration was jarring, and difficult to process. He thought again that it was nothing short of miraculous that Sarah did not technically share a birthday with the day her Mother passed away; her official date of birth was April 7th, 2001, at 12:01 AM. Her Mother had been pronounced less than three minutes before. He wondered if some number fudging had taken place in order to spare the baby the association.   
Sarah disappointed no one when presented with her slice of cake, promptly smashing her face into it and laughing joyously with it stuck to her cheeks and all over her tiny fingers. Bill, Charlie, and Mulder all managed to get the moment on recording. Teena took pictures. Looking back over these pictures later, it would occur to him that Sarah’s resemblance to Scully’s daughter Emily was uncanny, albeit with Sarah having a slightly narrower face and more pointed chin. The resemblance was odd, because Sarah really looked very little like the Scully side of the family. Except for her nose, really, she was still all Daddy.   
Cleaning up after the party, baby Sarah sound asleep and everyone else gone home, Maggie broached the subject with him. “You know, you wouldn’t be offending anyone by dating, Fox.” she said conversationally, not quite looking at him as they gathered garbage. He immediately felt blood pounding in his ears and rushing to his cheeks. Not sure how to answer, he kept quiet. Maggie Scully took the opportunity to continue. “I know how much you cared for my daughter; she felt just as strongly about you. But no one expects you to be alone for the rest of your life.” she told him gently.   
He looked sideways at her, not sure how to respond. He finally settled on just saying thank you and continuing to clean up, moving a bit faster now. It was getting late, he had school the next day. And he did not want to continue this conversation.   
Maggie touched his arm gently. “It might do you some good. Anyone can see that you’re lonely and unhappy, especially now that Ellen and Mike are back together.”  
He looked up at her, finally making eye contact. “Ellen and I were only friends. We were only ever friends.”  
Maggie smiled at him in understanding. “I know that. But if you weren’t, it would have been okay.”  
He shook his head. “I never felt that way about her.” It suddenly felt important to him that she understand. “Never, whether she and Mike would have gotten back together or not.” He looked away again, feeling dejected all of a sudden. “I don’t have time to date, not between school and getting ready to start a new job in a new career. All of my free time is focused on Sarah. And she doesn’t need women coming in and out of her life anyway.”  
“No, she doesn’t.” Maggie agreed taciturnly. “But that’s why it might be nice for her if you get it out of the way while she’s still so young.”   
He looked at her blankly. “Get what out of the way?”  
Maggie didn’t seem to want to look at him, and he abruptly realized that she was having a difficult time saying exactly what she wanted to say. “Picking someone out.” she finally said, emphasizing with her hands. “Picking someone out who can fulfill some sort of Mother, role, for her.”  
He didn’t say anything for a moment, and when he spoke it was in a dull monotone. “She has a Mother.”   
Maggie glanced up at him quickly and looked away. “I know she does. Dana-” Maggie paused and took a pained breath, as though she were forced to say her daughter’s name through a mouthful of broken glass. “She’ll always be Sarah’s Mother, but she can’t be here with her. Or for her. Someone else will have to be. Someone else should be.” She glanced up at him again briefly, and this time there were tears showing in her eyes. He didn’t say anything. The only thing he wanted to say might have been cruel, and that was that he was here for his daughter so she didn’t need some interloper trying to steal her Mother’s place. He didn’t want Sarah to forget all about Scully and never know her at all, or have someone else become more, important, somehow.   
Maggie cleared her throat. “Not trying to rush you into anything, Fox. I just wanted you to know that you don’t have to worry about hurting anyone’s feelings. When the time comes, you have our support.” He nodded and murmured a thank you, and than both of them proceeded as though the conversation had never taken place.  
Lying on the couch that night, trying to will himself to sleep, he continued to replay the conversation with Maggie in his mind. He knew that she was right on some level, that it would be nice for Sarah to have a physically present woman in her life, especially as she got older, but he just couldn’t imagine himself ever being ready for that. It had been almost impossible to commit to Scully at all, it was likely a good part of the reason she was gone, and he couldn’t risk putting Sarah through the pain of losing someone else like that. What if he met someone who fell in love with him, and who he loved, but whom he just couldn’t bring himself to commit fully to? What if he met someone and stayed with them for a few years, and than they split? He couldn’t do that to his daughter. Besides, he couldn’t see himself getting comfortable with anyone else as he had with Scully. He’d had his one shot at happiness, and he had blown it. Unfortunately, in some indirect way, his daughter would have to suffer for that.  
As he drifted off to sleep, he began to dream a memory he wouldn’t remember in the morning. It was the last time he saw his Father before leaving to attend Oxford University. He was 21 years old, nearly 22, and they were sitting near the beach, watching the ocean. He knew his Father was sad he was leaving, and disapproved of him going over seas, but was unwilling to express the emotions. It had been a familiar theme since Samantha’s disappearance nearly a decade before. The conversation had slowly turned to Samantha, like always, neither man looking at the other, until Mulder had turned to his Father briefly and said “You know, I always believed that she would come back. I really thought, that before I left for school, that she would be back.” He had glanced away than when his Father didn’t answer him. He murmured softly “I think that’s a part of the reason I waited so long to go, instead of going when I turned 18.” His Father never looked at him, just continued to stare out into the ocean and somehow past it. His only response was to say evenly “Well, son, even an intelligent man can make a lousy seer.” Even in his sleep he remembered the sting of that emotionless reply.

He cried.

Songs Used:  
Time Marches On – Tracy Lawrence


	5. Chapter 5: It Was Only Just A Dream

His intuition wasn’t always right.

 

He followed his wife through the knee-high grass. There were wild flowers intertwined in her hair. On her wrist was a bracelet made of them, and around her neck was a flower necklace. On her head sat a flower crown. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, off of the healthy pallor of her skin, the light dancing in her eyes. Her firey red hair was longish now, and summer-lightened. They paused and laughed together as their three year old daughter Sarah, dressed in a sundress identical to her Mother’s and bedecked with matching flower adornments, toppled over as she ran ahead of them in the field. They linked hands easily, and he was amazed once again at how perfectly their hands fit together. He could feel her pulse, strong and steady, as he held her hand. Sarah sat up, giggling, and looked back sheepishly at them over her shoulder before continuing on unperturbed.

He leaned close and breathed in her scent. It was clean, with a hint of her conditioner floating on the breeze. The flowers added a slight floral undertone that was intoxicating. She looked up at him, noticing what he was doing, and smiled at him. It was a knowing look, as though she were able to read his mind. After so many years, he figured she probably could.

“I still just can’t believe it.” he whispered, holding her close as they watched Sarah plunge ahead, giggling. The sun glinted off the towheaded little girl’s hair as she waded through the tall grass. They were heading to a favorite picnicking spot, their new Saturday tradition. “After all this time, more than three years, they were able to figure out what actually happened, and that you weren’t really...” his voice trailed off, still unwilling to say it, even now, even now that the demon had been vanquished. He hugged her tightly again. “I can’t believe you survived, all that time. I kept telling myself that you were gone, I felt it...”

She stopped his words with a kiss. “Mulder...” she chided him softly when they broke apart, her smile happy and somehow amused. “This isn’t the strangest thing we’ve gone through. Stop worrying about it; I’m just happy to be here with you, and Sarah. Finally. I don’t want to waste a second of it worrying about the past and things I’ve missed. We can’t change the past, but at least we have now.”

For once he listened. The picnic was lovely, even though it was just peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and apples. She had made a thermos of fresh iced tea and a thermos of fresh lemonade. He watched her eat, Sarah sitting on her lap, and drank in the sight. Seeing them together brought out every similarity Sarah had with her mother, even though the little girl was blonde haired and hazel eyed and nearly a spitting image of himself.

“Mommy, shows me how to make the fwowah chain?” Sarah asked suddenly. It was a warm day, but a cool breeze kept the temperature comfortable. He cracked one eye open to look at his daughter and smiled. Scully was leaning against him, her head just under his chin. Sarah was sitting on her lap, playing with the flowers around her Mother’s neck.

“Sure, Honey.” she told her amicably. Mulder closed his eyes again, enjoying the breeze and warm air against his face, the sound of the outdoors and his wife and daughters voices blending comfortably together as he began to doze…

As soon as he drifted off, it seemed, he began to rise out of sleep.

_ No. _

The quality of the air changed, feeling cooler, drifting over him and than off again. Than it circled back around, blowing over him again. He shivered. Perhaps a storm was blowing in.

_ No. No! _

He began to become aware of something draped over him. The picnic blanket must have blown up to cover him, probably because Scully and Sarah had gone to collect more flowers.

_ No! No no no no no no no. Oh please, no! No… _

He kept his eyes closed even though he was awake now, holding on to the scene in the field for as long as he could. It eventually began to break apart and float away, and he gave in to the eventuality and opened his eyes to see his bedroom. He didn’t cry, but his chest was heavy and hard and the depression that hung around him was palpable.

He reached his hand out from under the covers and patted the dog he could feel curled up beside him. Toby reached his head back and offered him a consolatory lick. He had broken down and gotten the Lab/Collie mix after he graduated. He hated to admit how comforting the dog was.

Despite his general melancholy, the sound of small feet pattering down the hallway made him smile in anticipation. His three year old daughter burst into the room unbidden, the top of her flaxen-haired head barely visible over the edge of the bed. He turned his head to face her as she stopped at the top of the bed next to his pillow. Her blonde hair, tousled from sleep, came to the middle of her upper arms, and her straight bangs stuck out in every direction. They stopped just above her hazel eyes, the same exact shape and color as his own. Her board straight hair was still thin, and it framed a narrow face that stopped in a relatively pointed little chin. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, but a spray of light freckles splashed across her cheeks and nose, one of the few physical traits she had inherited from her Mother. When her father turned to her, a smile broke out across her face.

“Hi Daddy!” she piped in her still babyish voice, and kissed his stubbly cheek. He puckered his lips and she put her own cheek up for a return kiss.

“Good morning, Sunshine. Have a good sleep?” he asked her, already forcing the dream aside. And so began their day, as began most every day. He got up, made a veggie omelet for himself and his daughter to share for breakfast, got her dressed and her hair and teeth brushed. He fed the animals, showered and shaved himself, dressed, than it was time to head out the door. Sarah went to either Grand-Mom Maggie or Grandma Teena’s while he worked, usually Maggie’s. The house he shared with his daughter was still new to him, it having been mortgaged for a small ransom just under a year ago. The yard was sprawling, the home much too large for a bachelor, a little girl, a dog, a cat, and a pair of rats. But he had wanted Sarah to be proud when she brought her friends home, and the neighborhood and school district were great, so he went with it anyway. He drove a Subaru because the safety ratings were excellent. He worked a half hour away for someone else, but in a few short years he planned to open his own practice even closer to home. On the door at work, in frosted letters over textured privacy glass, were the words “Dr. F. William Mulder, MD.”

For all intents and purposes, it was a good life. He took good care of his daughter, who was both happy and healthy, and he was exemplary at his work. He had shown an incredible aptitude for figuring out just what his patients needed, one that put even his aptitude for applying behavioral models to criminal cases to shame. In his personal life, however, he was still the same sad and lonely person he had been since losing the mother of his child and love of his life. He didn’t bring women home; he didn’t date at all. He portrayed himself as a model of stability, his entire life centered around his daughter and his work. But the dreams came far more frequently than he would have liked, and it seemed like every time they did it took him longer and longer to shake off their effects. Sometimes they were on a beach, sometimes sailing. Sometimes they were hiking. Sometimes it was the movies, or game night at home. He was tempted to call in sick and stay home in his pajamas with his daughter, watching TV and telling her stories about her Mother, whenever he had one of the dreams. More often than he cared to admit he gave in to the impulse, but he always felt guilty when he did.

“Sarah, do you know what day of the week it is?” he asked, glancing in the rear view mirror to see his daughter happily swinging her feet, elevated in her car seat. They had been working on the days of the week after mostly conquering the Months of the Year. Maggie had taught her a little rhyming ditty that she had sung almost incessantly over the last few months. She was a bright child and picked things up quickly. She still had a strong tendency to pronounce the ‘th’ sound as an ‘f’ or ‘v’ or ‘d’ sound, and ‘l’ and ‘r’ as a ‘w’, but not always anymore. It made her Father sad, in a way, to hear her babyish speech patterns maturing.

The little girl screwed her face up in concentration. “Is it Fuwsday, Daddy?” she asked hopefully, and her Daddy had to struggle not to laugh at the expectation in her voice. His little girl did not like being laughed at, whether there was ill will behind it or not. He thought she might have gotten that trait from her Aunt Samantha, along with a propensity to scream when she was frustrated.

“No, yesterday was Thursday. Remember, we went to the park and played with Little Joey and the other kids?” Every Tuesday and Thursday he left his afternoons free. He would finish up with his patients by noon, pick Sarah up and take her to lunch (sometimes with Grand-Mom or Grandma), and than meet with the Mommy Group they were a part of at the local park. He was one of three men in the group, and the only one who attended regularly. Besides the three men there were twelve women, but only eight of them came on a regular basis. The children ranged mostly in age from one to four, but sometimes older and younger siblings came along. One Saturday a month everyone would meet up and go to a local farm, or to a museum. Somewhere fun and educational for the kids. The idea was for the parents and kids to be able to socialize, but that hadn’t worked out so well on his end. He chatted with one of the other men, Joel, when he brought his twin sons but he only came around once or twice a month. Besides that, he only really talked much with a woman named Karen whose husband was in the armed forces and stationed overseas, leaving her on her own with their three children; a six year old daughter named Jennifer, a three year old son named Joey, and a 14 month old son named Jamie. Joey was Sarah’s self-appointed best friend, so her Father often found himself sitting with Karen whenever they went to the meet-ups. He hoped Joey and Sarah would be able to share a preschool class next fall when he finally enrolled her.

“Do you remember what day comes after Thursday?” he prompted his daughter. This time the response was much quicker.

“FWIDAY!” Sarah squealed in delight, kicking her legs harder. “It’s Fwiday, Daddy! Dat means it’s Happy Meawl Day!”

He couldn’t help smiling at his daughter’s enthusiasm. “That’s right, Honey. Today’s Friday, and when Daddy gets done work we’ll go home and make you your Happy Meal and see what we have special for tomorrow.” A Mulder Happy Meal did not include a trip to McDonald’s; in an effort to stave off potentially unhealthy habits in his daughter, he made home-made ‘happy meals’ every Friday. Complete with colorful packaging, this included two all-natural chicken nuggets and two veggie-substitute nuggets, carrot and celery sticks, and apple slices. Instead of a small toy it included a new book, as well as information on whatever was planned for the following day. Sometimes it was a trip to the movies, sometimes it was a trip to Chuck E. Cheese. Sometimes it was a trip with the Mommy Group. It usually didn’t matter; it was the exciting presentation that piqued Sarah’s interest for the most part. He hoped his daughter wouldn’t be extra trying for her Grand-Mom now that he had excited her, but he had no doubts about Maggie’s ability to handle his little bundle of energy.

 

His ‘Mulder Happy Meal’ went off without a hitch. He picked Sarah up from Maggie’s at 5:45, and while he made her special meal she stayed in the playroom down the hall from the kitchen. Her big birthday gift this year had been a four foot tall old-fashioned wooden dollhouse. It was Victorian in style, and parted in the middle to swing open on two hinges. They had been adding to its contents regularly, and Sarah was nearly obsessed with setting everything up just right. Her attention to small details at the age of three impressed her Father, and he had promised her that they could set up an elaborate village scene in the living room for the holidays. He just hoped that their cat, Jack, wouldn’t have any problems with that. They had found the orange tom as a stray at the park in March, and he had taken an instant liking to Sarah. He would run out of the brush as soon as they got there and follow Sarah around like a puppy, rubbing against her legs and even following her onto the play equipment. After this happened for two weeks straight he bought a carrier and took the cat to the vet for a clean bill of health and a neutering before bringing him home. Sarah had christened him Jack after her favorite bed time story at the time, Jack and the Beanstalk, and Jack the former stray hadn’t glanced at the door since than.

“Hey Ishmael, come on out here, your dinner’s ready!” he called down the hall. There was an immediate sound of tiny feet pitter-pattering quickly down the hall to the kitchen. Sarah appeared in the kitchen a second later and saluted him. “Aye-aye, Stubb! Weporting for Sewvice!”. One of the things he had found when he went through Scully’s house before it was sold was a picture book version of ‘Moby Dick’. Written on the inside of the front cover in Scully’s handwriting it read “For my Dearest Ishmael. With all my love, Starbuck”. He had cried for half an hour, than taken the book home. It wasn’t Sarah’s favorite, but she would ask for it one or twice a week. He always read the inscription to her, and one day over the last summer she had asked what it meant. He explained how her Mommy and Grand-Dad Bill had read the book together and called one another Ahab and Starbuck sometimes, and that Mommy wanted to pass that down to her. Sarah had asked what his special name was, and thinking on the fly he chose the name of the second mate. He didn’t use the nickname terribly often, but he did try to keep the tradition alive. He figured Scully would’ve wanted him to.

Sarah scrambled up to sit at the island in the kitchen to eat her dinner. Her Father helped her up on her third attempt; she was still tiny for her age, and he was starting to suspect she might stay that way, considering how petite her Mother had been.

“Can I wook at my book fiwst, Daddy?” Sarah asked expectantly, and he nodded. He started out making her eat first, but after she choked on three separate occasions while trying to rush through her food he decided that letting her see the book first was safer than making her eat first. “What it say, Daddy?” she asked, holding the book out to him. There was a blue train on the front against a golden background. A clown seemed to be the conductor.

He took the book from the little girl and read the title, letting her look at the words as he read them and dragging his finger below them slowly. “The. Lit-tle. Eng-ine. That. Could.” He pronounced the words slowly and carefully. His daughter mouthed the words along with him as he read.

“Can we wead it tonight, Daddy?” Sarah asked, taking a bite out of one of her nuggets first, making her speech more garbled than normal.

“If you don’t talk with your mouth full we can.” he responded, admonishing her lightly. “We’ll read it after you get your bath, at bedtime.” His daughter seemed amenable to this when she nodded enthusiastically but didn’t attempt to talk around her food again. He pulled out the brochures while she was eating. “Want to see where we’re going tomorrow?”

“Yeah!” Sarah yelled enthusiastically through a mouthful of celery, once again forgetting her still tentative table manners.

Amused by her excitement, her Father didn’t bother to scold her again. He figured you couldn’t expect kids to have perfect self-control after all, especially when you did something to get them excited. He flipped a brochure over and slid it across the table to his daughter. “How’s that look, Bugs?”

Sarah paged through the short pamphlet with one hand. The other hand held a baby carrot to her mouth that she was gnawing on slowly, serving as the catalyst for the nickname her Father had used. Carrots were her favorite vegetable; she ate so many of them that her Father often joked that he was surprised she hadn’t started turning orange yet. She stopped chewing on the carrot to comment, swallowing her food before speaking, and this caused a wave of pride to wash through her Father.

“Der’s chickies, and bunnies, and horsies, and sheeps, and goatses...” she said, pointing to the different pictures. She flipped the page before continuing. “An’ der’s a cooowwww.” she added, drawing the animal’s name out in an amusing fashion. “And wook, Daddy! Piggies!”

“That’s right. Do you know where we’re going?” he asked her, beginning to feel a sense of excitement. She had been begging to go since the start of the summer, so he had a feeling this was going to be a big hit.

Sarah squished up her face, tilting her head to the side and rolling her eyes towards the ceiling, one tiny hand holding her chin. It was all her Father could do to keep from belly laughing at the caricature of deep thought. “I don’ know, Da-” she began, and than her hazel eyes widened and she gasped theatrically. “Awe we goin’ to da  _ fawm _ ?” she squealed, beginning to flap her hands excitedly. 

He couldn’t help the laughter that escaped him. In her excitement, his daughter ignored it. “Do you want to go to the farm?” he asked her. The Mommy group had gone on a Saturday several months back, around the end of June, but Sarah had missed out on the trip because she’d had strep throat. He had promised her they would go just the two of them, but they hadn’t managed it over the summer. Now that it was almost October he wanted to go before it got too cold to spend a long time outside. “Or should we just stay home tomorrow?” he asked, teasing the little girl.

“No, Daddy! I wanna go to da fawm!” Sarah yelled, bouncing so much that she almost fell off her chair. “I wanna pway wif da chickies, and I wanna wide a horsie!”

“Alright, alright, farm it is.” he said to his daughter, settling her on the chair. He smiled at her gently, head tilted slightly to the side. It was an affectionate gaze he had given her Mother in years past when she’d done things that were especially endearing to him. “You want to play a game tonight or watch a movie?”

“Games!” Sarah’s squeal was characteristically exuberant. She began to eat her food more quickly, even though it was mostly gone anyway. She started to talk through a mouthful of apples and milk but caught her self and paused to finish chewing and swallow first. “Can we pway Hi-Ho Cherwio, Daddy?” she asked, and he acquiesced.

 

Friday game night went over without incident. They played Hi-Ho Cherrio, Hungry Hungry Hippos, Candy Land, and Chutes and Ladders for about two hours. He let Sarah win most of the games, but not all of them. Sometimes she could be bratty and a sore loser, and he wanted to break her of that habit as much as possible before she started preschool next year. She managed to lose with grace tonight, and he had a feeling that had a lot to do with their plans for the following day. At least it meant she was capable of controlling her temper when she lost a game, even if she didn’t always bother to. They also took turns picking what game to play, because she had a tendency to be a bit bossy and demanding. This he thought stemmed from her only-child status.

By the last round of Candy Land she was yawning, so he decided to call it a night. He gave her a quick bath with no toys because it was getting late and they had to be up early. The little girl was too tired to complain much, anyway.

“Daddy, can we still wead my new book?” she asked for the third time while he dried her hair, finishing the question with a huge yawn. She wore her favorite pajamas, quintessential long-sleeved kid jammies that collected at the ankle and wrist. These ones were pink with kittens and hearts all over them, with a large picture of a doe-eyed kitty hugging a huge red heart on the front of the shirt. They were also about two inches too short now but he hadn’t had the heart to tell her it was time to retire them yet.

“Only if you lay down and be quiet while I read.” he told her for the third time. He knew she would be asleep before he was a quarter of the way through the book anyway. For the third time, she promised that she would. He carried her down the hallway to her bedroom, her arms wrapped around his neck and her head on his shoulder, the book held in her right hand. The cloying scent of kid’s conditioner wafted around her still slightly damp hair. As they passed the table on the landing at the top of the stairs she murmured “Goodnight, Mommy” and he felt his heart break. There was a picture of Scully on the table, and for the last several weeks his daughter had taken to wishing it goodnight when they went past before bedtime. He didn’t say anything, he only hugged his daughter tighter to himself.

After she said her prayers he tucked her in under her sheet and quilt, both pink, than sat down beside her on the bed, leaning back against her pillows with her so she could snuggle against him and look at the pictures while he read. As he thought, she was sound asleep by the time he finished turning the page for the fourth time. He gently slipped off the bed without waking her, a much-practiced maneuver, and deftly slipped a well-loved cat plushie under her arm. Jack was curled up at the end of the bed, purring and keeping watch over his young mistress. He watched the sleeping little girl for a few moments before kissing her forehead. “Goodnight, Sweetheart. I love you.”

He let Toby outside to do his business for the night, and while the dog ran around, checking and marking the perimeter, he cleaned the rats and fed them again. They were two sisters, about 7 months old, named Jelly and Marmalade. They were both hooded with nearly identical markings, but one was lavender and white while the other was chocolate and white. While he cleaned he let them out to play for a bit. He felt guilty that they hadn’t gotten much time out today, but their cage was extremely spacious at least, and they had one another for company when he got busy. They had been Sarah’s Easter gift; she had asked for a baby bunny, but he had decided that the rat pair was a better option for them after researching different small furry animals. It had worked out well so far, but he was a bit afraid of what pet Sarah was going to be asking for after their farm trip the next day. The kid was a regular Doctor Doolittle, and he had a feeling his little Princess was going to be going through her pony stage very soon.

After he got the girls back in their cage he let Toby back in and made sure all the doors and windows were locked up tight. He thought about doing some work on an article he wanted to submit to a psych magazine, but decided he should probably hit the sack early; as excited as Sarah was she was apt to be up by the crack of dawn. He left the TV on; some nights he could do without it, but other nights, like this one, the house was just too quiet.

 

Sarah was up at 5:30 the next morning, but he got her to go back to bed until 7, at which point he finally gave up. There wasn’t a whole lot else you could do with an excited toddler, or preschooler, really. She was just going to need an earlier nap. He made them pancakes for breakfast, than showed his daughter the outfit he had gotten her for their trip to the farm. It consisted of yellow work boots with thick rubber soles, a pink long-sleeve t-shirt, and a pair of blue jean coveralls. Sarah fawned over it, she loved getting new clothes so much already that her Father was already dreading her teenage years. He had a feeling half of them were going to be spent in malls, melting his bank card. After he got her dressed and her hair brushed and pulled back in a pony tail, complete with a pretty pink ribbon barrette that matched her shirt, he sent her to play in the playroom while he cleaned up from breakfast and got himself ready to go.

The sound of the doorbell stopped him just as he started to head upstairs. As he turned back to answer it he heard his daughter’s heavy boots clunking over to the doorway of the playroom. “Da-deee, somebody winging the doo-oowwrr!” she called in a loud sing-song, making her Father smile.

“Thank you, Sweetheart!” he called back in the same sing-song, grinning. He listened as the clunking of her boots faded back into the room. Than he returned his attention to the door. He opened it to reveal a raven-haired young woman standing on their front step. “Can I help you?” he asked, hoping it wasn’t a would-be patient that had uncovered his home address.

The woman’s smile was open and disarming. She held out her hand. “Dr. Mulder? My name is Monica Reyes.”

He shook her hand, albeit a bit reluctantly. “Yes. Can I help you?”

Her smile thinned slightly. “I certainly hope so. I’m a Special Agent with the FBI, and my partner has gone missing, under some rather mysterious circumstances. I was pointed towards you because you also lost a partner in a similar fashion, several years ago, but you were able to recover your partner within three months. My partner has now been missing for over eight.”

He felt his jaw clench involuntarily, wondering who it was that had pointed the woman to him. He certainly wasn’t going to be writing them any thank you letters. There was so much hope on her face, and he felt a twist in chest. “I’m sorry, but whoever pointed you towards me was wrong. I’m not involved with any of that anymore. And I didn’t bring my partner back, anyway. It was a fluke.” The look on her face pained him, the disappointment and hurt. He had the distinct impression he had been her last possible lead. And he knew how it felt when your last lead failed and it was something desperately important to you.

“Please, Dr. Mulder, couldn’t you just look over the files? Your profiling is legendary, maybe you’ll see something we’ve been missing.” Her eyes caught his, and he was disconcerted to see the amount of desperation in them. “Please. John isn’t just my partner. He’s my best friend, the love of my life. I can’t lose him.” It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse again, his head was beginning to shake ‘no’ of it’s own accord. “Please, Dr. Mulder. You’re my only hope.”

The ‘Star Wars’ line ran through his head and he bit down on his tongue to keep wild laughter from bubbling up. Laughing in the woman’s face was absolutely not the way to handle the situation, obviously. He realized the laughter was coming from a place of fear. He was afraid to have anything to do with that world again, afraid it would drag him back into its dark web, afraid it would harm his daughter somehow. But he also knew he couldn’t not do what the woman before him was asking. If he refused, and the man died because he wouldn’t just look through the files and see if he noticed anything… that wasn’t very different from murder, really, was it?

He sighed inwardly and opened his mouth to answer when the sound of small clunking feet came from behind him.

“Aun’ Ellen, Aun’ Ellen!” Sarah yelled. She had heard the sound of the woman’s voice and misinterpreted it as a surprise visit from her Godmother. She came to a stop just behind her Father when she caught sight of the woman, who was clearly not her Aunt Ellen, and hid shyly behind his legs.

The woman’s demeanor changed abruptly, the desperate look being replaced again with the kind smile. “Aw, you got a widdle!” she exclaimed brightly, crouching down to Sarah’s level. Mulder blinked, questioning if he had quite heard her correctly. “Hi, there! My name’s Monica. What’s your name?”

Sarah smiled shyly from behind her Father’s legs. “Sawah Ann Muldah.” she said quietly.

“Wow, Sarah, huh? That’s such a pretty name! That’s one of my favorite names.” Her tone was bright, almost theatrical. She leaned closer, almost conspiratorially. “Do you know what ‘Sarah’ means?” she asked the little girl.

Sarah puffed her chest out proudly, stepping mostly out from behind her Father, nodding her head. “Yeah! It means I’m a pwincess!”

Monica smiled at her again. “Yes it does, that’s right. Wow, you must be really smart, too!”

He bent down and picked his daughter up, putting an end to the conversation. “Daddy, is she coming to the fawm too?” Sarah asked him. When he told her no, he was surprised to see that his daughter looked distinctly disappointed. 

“Honey, why don’t you go back and play so I can finish talking to the nice lady? As soon as I’m done we’ll get going, okay?” he promised, hoping it would keep her from putting up a fight. He thanked his lucky stars when she kissed his cheek and simply said “Okay, Daddy.” She paused after taking a few steps to look back at Monica. “Bye, Monica! Pweased to meets you.”

Monica waved to her. “Bye, Princess Sarah! It was nice to meet you, too.” After the little girl disappeared back down the hall she turned her attention back to the man standing in front of her. She was still smiling, but there was a great deal of pain evident in her eyes. “She’s a real cutie.”

“Thank you.” he answered, feeling a bit bemused. His daughter was fairly friendly, but he’d never seen anyone win her over quite that quickly. “Look, we’re on our way out right now. If you bring me whatever you want me to look at tomorrow morning I’ll see if I can find anything out for you. But I’m not making any promises, and only this one time.” A shadow passed over his face. “The FBI isn’t a part of my life anymore, and I don’t want it be, either.”

The appreciation was abundantly clear on the woman’s face. “Thank you, Dr. Mulder. So much. I understand your position. Would nine be too early tomorrow?”

Glancing over his shoulder towards his daughter he did some quick math. “Make it eight.”

Once he got the woman out of his hair he gave Maggie Scully a call and asked her if she could pick Sarah up for church the next morning because he had some work he needed to get done. If he was lucky and got rid of the agent fast enough, that might actually even be true. He could spend the extra time working on his article. Maggie agreed without a problem, and than it was off to the farm with one anxious man and one very excited little girl.

 

Sarah managed to last longer at the farm than her Father had expected her to, considering how early she was up. It was nearly three when he was able to drag her away, and then only with promises that they would come back again another time. To his surprise she was less interested in asking for a pony and more interested in the chicks and ducklings. She was still wheedling for one as he strapped her into her car seat.

“Maybe for Easter, Daddy?” she asked, her tone not pleading but more negotiating. “I take weal good cawe of Jelwy and Mawmawade, and Jackie...”

He didn’t answer her until he got in the front seat and put his seat belt on. “I know you do, Honey. But having more pets is a lot of responsibility. You’re going to be going to school next year, and Daddy wants to open up his own office closer to home soon.”

“I’m only going to pweschool next year, Daddy.” Sarah corrected him. Her tone suggested this was no big deal at all, and he hoped she kept that opinion when the time actually came the following year. “It not weal school.”

“But Daddy still has to think about opening his office. That’s going to keep Daddy extra busy for awhile and make it hard to take care of more pets. But I’ll be closer to home and we can spend more time together.” he told her, trying to distract her.

“Can we get a duckie or a chickie den?” she asked, and he felt himself falling into a logic trap set by a three year old. “Den we’ll have more time for dem.”

“What about Jack?” he asked her, trying another line of defense. “Cats like to eat birds, he might think your duck or chick was a snack, and we wouldn’t want that to happen, right?”

“Daddy, duckies and chickies don’t live in da house!” Sarah exclaimed, giggling at her Father’s apparent silliness. “Dey live outside!” Than, almost as an after thought “Sides, Jackie doesn’t eat Jelwy or Mawmawade.”

He sighed. He needed to end this discussion before he ended up actually being persuaded that having a chicken or duck in a suburban neighborhood wasn’t that big of a deal, really. “We don’t want to get too many pets, Honey. If we have too many pets they won’t all get enough love and attention, and that would be mean, right?”

“Yeah, but-” Sarah started, but he cut her off quickly.

“If we get a chickie or a duckie, than we won’t be able to go out and have fun anymore. Instead of going to the farm or a movie on Saturday, or the park on Tuesday and Thursday, we’d have to stay home so our pets get enough attention. Do you want to not go out and have fun and stay home more instead?”

Sarah stopped and considered this, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “No.” she finally said glumly, resignation in her voice.

“I think we should just visit the chickies and duckies at the farm for now, than. That way they get lots of love and attention, and we can still go out and have fun, too. Sound good?”

He breathed a sigh of relief to himself when he heard his daughter’s answering “Yes, Daddy”. He’d been afraid she might actually have a logical counter-argument, and he loathed going to “Because I said so” as a response. He used it occasionally when he ran out of options, but he preferred giving actual reasons and letting his daughter debate them, as long as his daughter’s negotiations were civil and not rude or tantrumy. As a psychiatrist he knew it was good for her cognitive and verbal development, and it also limited his daughter’s tantrums because when the answer was no she understood why and was a part of the discussion instead of just having his will imposed on her. Usually it turned out fine, like in this case. Despite her spirited debating for the first part of the ride home he wasn’t surprised to find her out like a light when he pulled into their driveway.

 

Maggie Scully picked her three old granddaughter up at 7:15 the next morning; mass wasn’t until 8 but she liked to be a bit early so they could get good seats. Sarah was dressed in one of her Sunday dresses; this one was pale pink and frilly with a slightly brighter pink ribbon around the waist that was tied in a bow to the right. There was a matching pink ribbon headband holding back her blonde hair and white Mary Janes on her feet, complete with frilly white socks. She looked like a porcelain doll.

“Be good for Grand-Mom.” he told the little girl, kissing her cheek as Maggie held her on her hip. “I’ll see you this afternoon, okay?” Watching them leave, he felt a chill of unease run through him but he forced himself to brush it off. He had a hard time letting Sarah out of his sight; he feared not only that she might die and leave him, like her Mother had, but that she might just disappear without a trace, as his sister Samantha had. Every time he left her, or she left him, there would be a fleeting sense that it might be the last time he would see her. He watched Maggie’s car pull away before going to get a shower. His hair was still wet when Monica rang the doorbell again at eight o’clock sharp.

He opened the door with a polite smile. The woman on his porch had a wide smile on her face and a depressingly small stack of papers in her hand, contained in a tan FBI folder. He could tell almost immediately, just from the amount of evidence, that there was likely very little he would be able to help with. Still, he stepped aside and invited his guest in.

“Thank you again for taking a look, Dr. Mulder. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.” Monica’s smile was appreciative as she stepped into the house. Toby’s greeting was enthusiastic, and she caught his paws in her hands as he jumped up on her. “Well, hello there!” she said, laughing at the dog.

“Toby, off!” he commanded, frowning at the dog. Toby jumped down, head lowered in shame. He gave Monica a small smile. “I’m sorry; he’s usually better behaved than that. And just ‘Mulder’ is fine.”

The two sat in the dinning room while Monica filled him in on her missing partner, a 44 year old former NYC cop named John Jay Doggett. He had been previously married, but divorced in early 1995. His seven year old son with this wife had been kidnapped and murdered in 1993. The murder remained unsolved for nearly a decade. He joined the FBI the same year he divorced his wife. In early 2000 he was assigned to the X-Files unit. This was in an apparent effort to close the unit down for good after Mulder’s departure, as he was a solid skeptic. Within two months of the assignment he was joined by Monica Reyes. Though she managed to open him up to some possibilities, he continued to disbelieve most of what they investigated, particularly concerning aliens. Shortly after being assigned to the X-Files Doggett and Reyes began carrying on a romantic relationship, and had been considering marriage when he disappeared. The disappearance took place around 6pm on December 29 th , 2003. Doggett had been helping to transport a man named Grady Shaw who was believed to be involved in the disappearances of a number of children, aged 3 to 14, over a period of five years throughout the area where Maryland, Delaware, and Pennsylvania meet. Shaw insisted that he was acting on the instructions of aliens, and that the children were all safe with the aliens, who intended to use them to repopulate the earth after a great war. Doggett, the local deputy he was traveling with, and Shaw were all seen at a gas station at approximately 5:45. They should have arrived at the county correctional facility at approximately 6:30. A car was reported abandoned on the road at 6:15, and it was found to be the vehicle that the three men were in. It was not pulled to the side of the road, but stopped in the center. All four doors were open, the car was still running, and all three men were gone. No forensic evidence was found, apart from evidence of strange burns on the exterior of the vehicle. The local deputy, a man named Levi Smith, was found in the surrounding woods by a group of teenagers on February 11 th . His unclothed body showed evidence of torture, and the chemical workup suggested he had been kept in conditions meant to mimic prolonged diminished gravity. It was believed that Shaw had somehow taken the two law enforcement officers hostage, until his body was found in similar condition less than 500 yards from where the car was found, on June 9 th . They were not able to confirm a time of death for either man; it appeared that the bodies had spent time in a deep freeze for a period before being dumped, and this had led to extreme cellular breakdown. 

“As of today, September 26 th , there has still been no sign of Agent Doggett.” Monica finished, her hands clasped on the table in front of her. She had referred to the man she had been about to marry as ‘Agent Doggett’ throughout the discussion, and he had the distinct impression that it was not due to an attempt at formality, but rather an attempt at distancing herself. The man had been missing for nearly a year, and the two men he had disappeared with had been found many months ago now, deceased and their bodies in sorry condition. He didn’t say anything about the hopefulness, or rather hopelessness, of the situation to her; he knew he didn’t have to. 

He had been looking through the crime scene photos while she filled him in. There were undeniable similarities to his own abduction several years back; unfortunately this possibility had been thoroughly investigated, Skinner had apparently seen to that. Unlike himself, these men were absolutely as deceased as they appeared to be. However, Monica had compared the abduction with Scully’s abduction in 1994 by Duane Barry. That similarity, apart from Shaw’s insistence that he was a multiple abductee, didn’t seem to make much sense to him.

“Did you look into the possibility of a connection with the murder of his son in 1993?” he asked, still not looking up.

“Briefly.” Monica admitted. “The men involved were captured or killed over a year before Agent Doggett disappeared, and there didn’t seem to be any possibility of a connection with their associates.” She shrugged. “And besides that, Agent Doggett wasn’t even supposed to be involved in the transportation; his car broke down and the ride was just taking him closer to home. From what I investigated, I believe Grady Shaw was the main target.”

“I would look into a connection between his son’s death and his disappearance, anyway. Make sure the men who you believe to be guilty are guilty. See if Shaw was operating that early, possibly in the vicinity of Luke Doggett’s disappearance.” He shuddered, but hoped she didn’t notice. It made him feel dirty to be discussing the deaths and disappearances of children in the same home where he raised his daughter. “There’s another possibility here as well; Grady Shaw never worked alone. It makes sense considering the area he operated over and the number of children attributed to him over a short period of time. If he had an accomplice, or even two or three accomplices, they may have staged his rescue.”

“But why would they have killed him after the fact? Why go through the trouble of rescuing him to kill him, and in a terrible and drawn out fashion?” Monica looked genuinely confused. “Don’t get me wrong, I understand the darkness of human, and inhuman, nature. I just don’t see the logistics in this.”

“It could have been done to throw the government’s tracks off of them, lead them down an external pathway, especially since there is no official knowledge of any accomplices of Grady Shaw. They could have ‘rescued’ him to make sure he wouldn’t talk, or they could have decided to kill him later. There are reasons why the scenario could play out, and it’s definitely an avenue worth investigating.”

There was silence for a few minutes. Monica finally got up the nerve to ask the real question. “What if Shaw was telling the truth? What if he really was collecting the children, for aliens?” She paused a moment and cleared her throat. “They’ve never found any bodies, never any evidence at all, and Shaw’s property has been searched thoroughly, multiple times. There have been reports of strange crafts and lights in the general area over the years.”

He pulled the paper out that listed Shaw’s specs. The picture showed a thin man with longish hair, pale and greasy. He looked at least 20 years older than his listed age, and like he hadn’t seen his own teeth since he was a teenager and a bath in more than a month. His eyes were dark, narrow, and mean and glared almost malevolently at the camera in the mugshot, his cheeks hollow and gaunt. His criminal history spilled over several pages. “Grady Eugene Shaw. Age 44, height 5’11”, weight 130lbs. First conviction was for petty robbery at the age of 18, however I see you managed to get your hands on juvenile records dating back to age 12. He spent time in juvey hall for assault and battery and robbery as a teenager. Troubled home life, unsubstantiated allegations that his stepfather may have been abusive. He was charged with lewd and lascivious acts with a minor when he was 26, but the charges were dropped.” He flipped through the pages. “Similar accusations appear a handful of times, never brought to court. He was charged and convicted with crimes relating to drunken bar brawls and theft a number of times, however, and spent a total of 11 years of his life in juvey hall and various local correctional facilities. He was known as a loner and a mean drunk who would look for fights with anyone whenever he had an ounce of liquor in him, and it was rare that he didn’t. A history of mental disturbance dating from at least his early 20’s, though probably earlier if his records are a good indication.” He looked up at Monica, a sad expression on his face. “You’ve seen my work; you know how much I want to believe. I, just don’t think this man is who I want to place my faith in. The profile fits him pretty well; I think he just knew better than to take his victims back to his own home. I would look for abandoned local properties near his home, or even heavily wooded areas. Make sure you look for locations underground, especially.”

Monica bit her lip. “I know how his profile looks. He was not a pleasant man, not in any way. I interviewed him a couple of times before he went missing; he never deviated from his story about the aliens, but he certainly felt no remorse for the families missing their children, or if the kids were afraid or being harmed in these ‘tests’.” Though she couldn’t see it, the man in front of her was seething, remembering his sister’s disappearance. “What I’m trying to say, is Shaw was not a ‘good’ guy, not by any means. But he absolutely believed the story he was telling. When John went missing, I started checking in to Shaw’s past. His Father disappeared on a hunting trip when Shaw was eight; he was with him. Shaw was missing for three weeks before he came stumbling out of the woods. He said he remembered a bright light and screaming, and that was all. Bernard Shaw was found several days later near their campsite, in similar condition to how Grady and Deputy Smith were found.”

Mulder was following her with rapt attention. “So your saying both Grady and his Father were abducted?”

Monica shrugged, displaying open palms. “You tell me where the evidence takes you. It was January when they disappeared, and during the time Grady was lost in the woods there was a severe blizzard. They only took enough food with them for three days; most of it was still there when the search party initially went out looking, which is consistent with Grady’s claim that the events occurred during dinner the first night they were there. When found, both Father and son displayed symptoms of pro-longed weightlessness, but neither displayed any symptoms of exposure. Again, they were missing for nearly a month, during which there was a massive blizzard, in January. In rural Rhode Island.”

He quietly contemplated what she was telling him. When he glanced up, there was a particular look on her face, and he recognized it immediately. “There’s more though, isn’t there? This is just the tip of the iceberg.” There was almost wonder in his voice, an old feeling of excitement surging through him. It was not undiluted, however; there was a rush of fear immediately on its heals. If this was indeed the real deal, and not simply a ruse on the part of Grady Shaw, he needed to distance himself from it immediately. He was putting himself and his daughter in danger to do otherwise. But still, he had to know what else Monica had uncovered.

She nodded at his question. “I spoke with his stepfather, Martin Cole. His Mother died almost fifteen years ago. According to Cole, Grady Shaw was severely traumatized by his Father’s death and his own apparent abduction. He said Shaw had severe nightmares that would wake the whole house throughout the night. He would sometimes sleepwalk, according to Cole, and wake up with strange bruises in the morning, dirty and his clothing ripped. This, apparently, is where the allegations of abuse started. According to Cole, at least. I was given the impression that Cole didn’t care much for his stepson; Shaw was almost twelve when his Mother remarried, and he was already displaying delinquent behavior. Cole portrayed him as a disrespectful kid who was angry about having a new authority figure in his life. Incidentally, he also called Shaw a compulsive liar. When I followed up on that assertion, Cole revealed that Grady Shaw had complained of being abducted multiple times since his Father’s death. Cole believed it was Shaw acting out, but the claims were almost textbook examples of repeated abductions.”

“I’m starting to understand the comparison to Duane Barry better.” he interjected, chewing on the end of a pen. “So I’m going to make an assumption here; Grady Shaw believed that by giving others, the children, up to the aliens that he believed abducted him his entire life he would eventually be spared.”

Monica nodded. “We never ascertained how many, but it is my belief, based on my interviews with Shaw, that he had a specific number in mind.”

He put the pen down. “Have you considered he may have planned his capture?” When she looked confused, he continued. “Maybe it was time he found an actual replacement for himself. Not a child, but an adult. Shaw would have likely been aware of where he would be transported to from where he was captured, and he would have had a reasonable idea of what route they would take.” She was almost holding her breath as he spoke. “Do you have any information on where Shaw believed his abductions took place, or where he was returned to afterwards?”

Monica began flipping through the documents, spreading them around the table as she did so. “Yes, there were several different places...” Finally finding what she was looking for, she tapped the paper, looking up to him as she did so. “This one here. This is less than five miles from where the car was found. In fact-” she moved around the table to his side, pulling out a map to compare. “-where the car was found is the closest place where the road reaches that spot.”

Their eyes met. “Shaw planned it.” he told her, a creeping sort of horror entering his voice. “I’d put money on it. Whether it was aliens or not, Shaw knew that they would be intercepted.”

As they looked at one another, the horrible implications sinking in, the front door banged open. Both jumped at the sound, jerked away from their intense focus. Quick tapping footsteps and the high-pitched calls of “Daddy! Daddy!” clued them in to who was coming.

He stood quickly to meet his daughter at the doorway, spinning around as he picked her up so she couldn’t look over his shoulder. “Hey Pumpkin! How was church with Grand-Mom?” Behind him Monica was quickly shoving the papers spread across the table back into the folder, grabbing for the photographs, which contained a mixture of missing children and the bodies of the two recovered men, first.

Maggie followed Sarah into the dinning room. “I hope you don’t mind us coming back a bit early, Fox. I was feeling a bit under the weather and not up to staying for the second Ma-”. Maggie Scully broke off what she was staying and stiffened slightly as she stepped into the dinning room and caught sight of Monica looking panicked and mildly disheveled as she shoved a folder full of paperwork out of sight. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were entertaining.” Maggie gave him a mildly accusatory look. “You should have told me; I would have known to take Sarah home until the coast was clear.”

Mulder flushed a deep red. “No, no it isn’t like that. I’m doing some consulting work, this is-”

“Hi Monica!” Sarah yelled brightly, having twisted around in her Father’s arms to see who was there. The fact that Sarah knew the woman’s name made Maggie Scully’s eyebrows go up in a way that caused his stomach to cramp painfully, they were so similar to the disbelieving expression her daughter had frequently worn around him.

Monica smiled wanly at the child and waved. She felt like she was a teenager again, getting caught making out with her first boyfriend by her Father, and she didn’t understand why.

He tried again to explain, feeling like it was more in vain than ever. “This is Special Agent Monica Reyes. She asked me to do a bit of consultation on one of her cases because I had experience with a similar case, plus my psychiatric expertise was of use. She stopped by yesterday but I was on my way out with Sarah so I asked her to come back today.” He purposefully left out the case that it was similar to, although thinking of it made his chest ache.

Maggie looked concerned when he mentioned the FBI. She had never approved of her daughter joining, and had been very relieved when he had chosen another, safer, profession after Sarah was born.

“Are you thinking of rejoining?” she asked him, clearly making an effort to keep her voice even but ultimately failing miserably.

He smiled, trying to put her at ease. “No. Not at all. It’s a brief consultation and that’s it.” He hugged his daughter tighter for a moment. “I’m not interested in the bureau anymore, or anything it has to offer.”

Maggie visibly relaxed at this. “I see. Well, I’ll just be on my way, if that’s alright. I hope I didn’t interrupt you too early, I could always take Sarah out to lunch if you need a bit more time.” At this she looked over at the agent.

Monica smiled winsomely as she walked over to them, folder in hand and held tightly closed. “We were pretty much finished. Dr. Mulder had some extremely useful insights and suggestions for me that I’m sure will help with the investigation.” She reached her free hand out to shake Maggie’s. “It’s been nice meeting you, and thank you for giving us the time to discuss the case without little ears around.” Daddy chose an opportune time to tickle his daughter, so the child’s laughter covered up Monica’s words and she missed them. Maggie however did not, and winked knowingly at the young agent.

Once Maggie left an awkward silence built up as they stood in the dinning room, he still holding his daughter. There was more they wanted to discuss, but it was impossible with Sarah there, and he was extremely reluctant to set up another meeting; he had dearly meant everything he had said to Maggie.

“Daddy, awe we doin’ anyfing today?’ Sarah asked hopefully, knowing perfectly well the answer was probably no since they had gone out somewhere special the day before. He opened his mouth to tell his daughter just exactly that, and besides he still had that article he wanted to write, but Monica interrupted before he could answer.

“I have an idea, if your Daddy says it’s okay.” she told the little girl. He wasn’t sure he quite trusted the mischievous look in her eyes. “Why don’t we go get lunch at Chuck E. Cheese and play some games?”

Sarah’s gasp was theatrically enthusiastic, and her Father thought again that he should have moved out to Hollywood and signed the kid up. She craned her neck around to look at her Father. “Can we, Daddy? Pwwwease?” She was squirming in his arms with excitement.

Monica had raised her eyes to is. There was a small smirk on her face and a playful light dancing in her eyes. “My treat.” she offered casually.

He sighed inwardly. Maybe his daughter would go to bed early after the excitement and he would be able to do the article tonight, or at least some of it. And it wasn’t like he could really refuse the offer when Sarah was so excited about it. She was practically buzzing. “Alright. Sarah, can you take your nice clothes off and lay them neatly on your bed and put on jeans, a t-shirt, and a pair of sneakers?” His daughter promptly agreed and disappeared up the stairs. They were working on her dressing herself without any help, and she was doing fairly well with it, so he didn’t anticipate any problems. Besides, the sneakers were the hardest part, and they were velcro.

Once Sarah was safely out of earshot he glanced over at Monica. “I’m surprised; I would have thought you’d be on your way to Three Points as soon as possible. And you don’t have to treat.”

She didn’t quite meet his eye, and in that moment he realized she was deeply afraid of what she might find there. “If I leave now it’ll be dark by the time I get there anyway. Tomorrow will have to be soon enough.” Her voice was soft and thoughtful, and he felt a surge of pity for her, remembering when Scully had been missing all those years ago, as well as remembering that impossibly long walk down a hospital corridor only a few short years ago.

When she looked up at him the momentary sorrow seemed to have faded, and he realized that she was simply a very good actor, well versed in putting a positive front up for those around her. “Look; it’s been a, dark, day. For both of us. I know I could use some levity, and you probably can too, and what is brighter than a kid at Chuck E. Cheese?” He couldn’t argue with that, and to his surprise he felt a grin creeping across his face. “It’ll be fun for all of us, and I wasn’t offering to treat; I  _ am _ going to treat. It’s the least I can do for stealing away your Sunday, and to show my gratitude for your help.” 

 

Monica apparently wasn’t lying about wanting to have fun herself at the restaurant. When they got there she ordered pizza, drinks, and fries before dragging Sarah over to play the games. He found himself mostly trailing along after them; video games hadn’t been his forte since he was in high school and college. When he brought his daughter they usually didn’t really play the games, they just got pizza and Sarah played in the tunnels and ball pit with the other kids. Monica showed Sarah how to play some of the simpler games, holding her up to reach some of them, and both he and his daughter got a kick out of watching Monica play DDR.

Sarah took a liking to the whack-a-mole game. She would wait for the little critter to slowly pop up with the plush mallet clutched in both of her tiny hands, and than jump and smash at the same time before springing back quickly like it was going to try and bite her. The game would play a funny little noise as the critter descended back into it’s hole and Sarah would giggle, almost maniacally. Neither her Father nor Monica could keep from laughing at this, and their amusement was part of what led them to let her keep playing for the better part of twenty minutes.

He showed off his basketball moves, easily beating the machine’s registered high score. He held Sarah to try and throw the ball into the hoop a couple of times, but she wasn’t strong enough yet to throw the ball far enough. Monica, however, impressed him with her basketball skills.

“You had to have played in high school. Right?” he asked her. Her technique was too good, there was no way she didn’t. Her tall and slender build would have made it a natural fit.

She smirked in response. “High school? I made varsity in middle school and I played all the way through college.” She punctuated the statement by swooshing a particularly difficult shot. He found himself chuckling at her cockiness.

“Daddy, can we play something else now?” his daughter asked, tugging on his pants. Unfortunately, his little girl did not share his love of sports, at least not yet. He was still getting her that plastic Fisher-Price basketball net for Christmas in the hopes that might change, though.

Acquiescing to his daughter’s mild whining, they headed over to the far wall with its line of skee-ball lanes. Sarah promptly chucked a ball down the lane baseball style before her Father or Monica could stop her; it sailed a surprising distance, and landed with a loud thunk before rolling back towards them.

“No, Honey, you have to  _ roll _ the ball. Like this.” he told her, demonstrating. The ball rolled down the lane and popped up and into the center hole, scoring an easy 30,000 points. His next couple rolls garnered 50,000, and on his last roll he went for broke and managed to snag the upper left corner for 100,000 points. This last score got his daughter to jump up and down and clap. He wasn’t sure if it was his skills or the pile of tickets pouring out of the machine that elicited the reaction. He started to ask his daughter if she wanted to give it a try, but Monica was already putting a token in the lane next to his for her.

“Alright Sarah, hold the ball like this, okay?” Monica told the little girl, standing behind her and bending down. Her own hand was wrapped around the little girl’s, whose tiny hand was closed tightly around the heavy brown ball. She moved Sarah’s hand back and forth to get the motion going. “On the count of three we’re gonna let go, okay? One, two… three!” The ball rolled down the lane and popped up and into the 20,000 point slot.

Sarah crowed with delight. “Wook, Daddy! Wook! I got the ball in the hole! I got tickets!” Her Father suppressed a chuckle at her shrill squealing.

“Good job, Munchkin. Try it again.” he encouraged. Maybe baseball would be her sport. Or bowling.

Sarah promptly spun back around to Monica. “Help me again?” she asked. Sarah Ann Mulder was a shrewd child.

After inhaling a slice of pizza and some fries dipped in cheez whiz, which made him feel guilty because the meal included no vegetables and too much junk, Sarah took off to play in the tunnels and the ball pit with the other kids in the restaurant. Her Father and Monica sat at the booth, keeping an eye on her and waving back as she waved from every possible vantage point.

“You know, this really was a nice way to unwind.” he said suddenly. Although the restaurant was engulfed by the sounds of children running wild, there was a sense of calm peacefulness over their little booth.

She nodded, smiling and waving to Sarah as the child scampered through the tunnels above their heads. “Don’t ruin it by talking about it.” she advised him, and winked. She was the one to continue the train of thought a moment later, though. “I haven’t done anything like this in a long time. Just, had some fun. It’s been nonstop work for a long time now.” She wasn’t looking directly at him, but she was watching from her peripheral vision.

He nodded in agreement, thinking about it. “No. I haven’t either. Not in years, honestly.” And it was true; he had done things with his daughter, for her to have fun, and he had enjoyed many of them. But it had been more than three years now since he had done anything that was directly meant to be enjoyable to him, as well. Even if it was just pizza and some silly games. And this was certainly the first time in just as long that he had spent time with an adult that wasn’t a relation or some form of extended family. Even when they went on their Mommy Group outings he didn’t really socialize with the other adults, he spent the time doting endlessly on his daughter and giving her his full and undivided attention or simply standing by himself and watching her. This had been, nice.

Sarah played awhile longer before she was tired out. Between the three of them, they had enough tickets for her to be able to take home a small stuffed Chuck E. toy and a large colorful round lollipop with the mouse’s smiling face plastered over the front. The kid was falling asleep as her Father strapped her into her car seat, her new plushie tucked under one arm in a veritable death grip. “Bye, Monica.” she called around her Father’s arm. “Thank you fow taking me hewe.”

Monica waved to her. “Bye Princess Sarah. You are very welcome.” She leaned closer to mock whisper. “We’ll have to come again sometime; they make us old people bring kids with us if we want to play.” Sarah giggled at this, but it turned almost immediately into a yawn that took up the kid’s whole face.

He closed the door, and they stood awkwardly for a moment. He shuffled his feet.

“Well, keep me informed, alright? Let me know how the case is going, if I can help you with anything else...” As he said it he kicked himself mentally. Why was he leaving this opening? This was a one time deal, one consultation and than the FBI was dealing with their own mess. He wasn’t staying on with this case. Tomorrow life went back to normal, with work and Mommy Groups and Friday Night Mulder Happy Meals. No more crazy FBI cases, and no more impromptu visits to Chuck E. Cheese.

The small smile she gave him was knowing. He wanted to think it was almost a bit sad, but brushed that thought away. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me with this case. And with this diversion. I’m going to start working on the leads you suggested to me tonight.” She looked away from him, her face suddenly weary, and wary.

He didn’t know what made him say it; it popped out of his mouth of its own accord it seemed. “Are you sure Agent Doggett couldn’t have just used this as a diversion, to get away from his life and start over as a new person?” He realized how horrible this sounded immediately, especially when they had apparently been seriously discussing marriage. “I mean, after losing his son… I can’t imagine losing, Sarah, especially not that way...”

Monica looked up at him and there was deep sorrow in her eyes now, much deeper than before. She licked her lips and glanced away again before speaking. “No. No, John would never have left, not like that, especially not than...” She was quiet for just a moment before pulling a gold locket out from under her shirt and opening it. Inside was a picture of a smiling baby, just a couple of months old. “Our son, Jack, was just over three months old when John disappeared.” She was close to tears now, and he was kicking himself. “Even if he would have left me, and I honestly don’t believe he would have, he would never have been apart from Jack willingly. Not for any length of time.”

“What happened?” he asked softly, instinctively. Not that he had any right to know, he was really just prying now.

Her voice turned clinical when she answered him, but not before he saw guilt plastered across her face. “An undiagnosed heart defect. He was eight months old.”

He understood the guilt; he could only imagine how he would have felt if something had happened to Sarah. Maybe a missed appointment because she was intent on finding the baby’s Father and bringing him home safe and sound; maybe she just felt like she didn’t pay enough attention and missed signs and symptoms she felt she should have seen in retrospect, hindsight being 20/20 and all. What he said to her was “I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine...”

She glanced up at him, her expression rueful. “Thank you.” She was silent for a moment, than jerked her head towards Sarah, now asleep in the car. “What happened to her Mother, if you don’t mind me asking?” He didn’t respond right away and she looked down again, sticking her hands in her pockets. “I’m sorry, forget it, it’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No. No, it’s alright.” He said slowly. His heart beat faster as he tried to formulate the words. “Her Mother was my FBI partner. Dana Scully. The woman abducted by Duane Barry and later returned. It was during childbirth.” He paused for a moment, than decided to be brutally honest. “It was a high-risk pregnancy; I wasn’t there, when she, passed away. I was in Utah, following up on some odd lights that had been reported.” It was his turn to wear a very sour expression.

“I’m sorry, too.” she told him softly after a moment. She put her hand gently on his shoulder and he looked up at her. “I think you might be one of the few people who actually can imagine.”

After she left he got in the car, but didn’t pull away immediately. He needed to decompress for a moment. It was the first time he had told the story to anyone else, even in fractured form. He wasn’t sure what had really prompted it. It had only ever been a one-word answer for anyone else who asked the question. Childbirth.

 

That night Sarah added Monica to her nightly prayers. He thought to correct this somehow, but decided against it. How do you tell a three year old not to pray for someone? And what was so wrong with it, really? She didn’t ask when they were going to see her again, so he let it go. He kind of hoped she would be a fast interest that would fade quickly now that she was gone. Pointing out that this would not be a regular occurrence was likely to be more upsetting to his daughter than just letting the woman fade from memory he ultimately decided. Besides, just than he wasn’t sure how he felt about that himself.

Sarah went to bed early, and he really did try to work on the article. But he knew within 20 minutes of sitting down that nothing was getting done. His thoughts were too unfocused. Still, he sat at the computer for an hour before he finally officially gave up. Oh well, it was only the third week in a row that he hadn’t managed to work on the article. As he turned off the computer, he wondered if perhaps it simply wasn’t destined to be written.

Lying in bed, the day drifted through his subconscious as he tried to drift away to sleep. His thoughts kept drifting back to the tall brunette somehow; her showing Sarah how to play skee-ball, exchanged looks of muffled laughter while Sarah played whack-a-mole, the easy way she sank the baskets on the basketball machine… The sorrow in her eyes when she talked about the missing John Doggett and their lost son.

He rolled over, annoyed with himself. He knew how this would play out; they would find the missing agent, likely buried in a shallow grave around Three Points, likely with other victims of Grady Shaw in the area. That, or they wouldn’t find him at all, not until they were meant to. With the other two men involved already deceased, things did not look good for Agent Doggett either way, unfortunately. He thought Monica would probably give him a call, if he was lucky, to tell him how things panned out and thank him again. Than, she would move on with her life. She was a strong person, that much was fairly evident. She would probably leave the area, maybe even leave the FBI altogether, as he had. But Monica would not be making a habit of hanging out at the local Chuck E. Cheese with a hollowed-out husk of a psychiatrist and his little daughter, nor anywhere else for that matter. About that he was entirely certain. Besides, he’d had his chance at love and a good life, and he had blown it. More than that, he’d spit in its face and pushed it aside. Hadn’t wanted it, hadn’t been grateful. He should have learned when Samantha was taken from him not to take things for granted; when you took someone you loved for granted, they slipped away from you. She was gone, probably entirely because of him. She didn’t get any second chances, and he didn’t deserve one either, and had no right to even think about it. 

Starring at the ceiling, he decided he would think back on the day like it had been a dream. It was no more substantial than that, really. Just a strange and warm interlude in his lonely life. Tomorrow things would be back to normal, and this would fade into no more significance than other dreams he had about more pleasant existences.

 

His intuition wasn’t always right.


End file.
